Wading Through Blood
by Chelsie Dagger
Summary: A CrackFic alternate ending to my own story, 'Wading Into the Unknown' (is that too meta?) in which Mrs. Butte is more than a little unhinged mentally and no one is safe. Picks up after Ch.43 of 'Wading Into the Unknown.' Dark, adult themes will be addressed. Not for the faint of heart. Main Character is Mrs. Butte, played here by Imelda Staunton. Temporarily 'T', but will go 'M'.
1. The First One is Easy

**AN/ This is a VERY dark and bloody CrackFic alternate ending to my own story, starting after Chapter 43 of 'Wading Into the Unknown'. This is for you bloodthirsty folk who want to see Thomas come to no good end. This will contain graphic violence. If that is not your thing, you should not read this and simply stick to the main path. If you laughed all the way through Pulp Fiction, this might just be for you, you sick puppy.**

**This was born from a PM discussion with GraysonSteele and from the fact that I am woefully underusing Mrs. Butte (played by Imelda Staunton) in my main fic. It's like bringing Shirley Maclaine in for the Christmas Special and then using her like set dressing instead of an actress. (oh, wait…)**

**This will be light on the Chelsie early on (for reasons that will soon become obvious), but they will make an appearance in the climactic final chapters.**

**If you have not been reading 'Wading Into the Unknown', it's only 40 some odd chapters, so get cracking. Or, read this little synopsis that will tell you just enough to enjoy this bit of weirdness. **

******Warning: This is going to be bloody! [In case the title did not clue you in.]**

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**PREVIOUSLY ON 'Wading Through Blood' [aka 'Wading Into the Unknown' Chapters 1-43]::**

**May/June 1923- After the canon events of the 2013 CS, Carson and Mrs. Hughes have discovered their mutual feelings and are engaged to be married. Thomas is an ass who is trying to drive Carson to early retirement and has also threatened to blackmail the family if he does not get his way. Thomas has tricked Mrs. Butte into helping him convince Lord G. that Carson is not entirely healthy.**

**Carson is currently in a health clinic and Mrs. Hughes is on her way back to Downton with Ivy, Daisy and Jimmy. Lady Mary is the only member of the family who knows the heads of household are engaged.**

* * *

Lucille fumed in her room. She had been played by that scheming, slimy under butler. Now, Mr. Carson was gone; sentenced to who knows how long in a health clinic. Lucille knew she had played her part in condemning him to this fate, but she bitterly regretted it now. Anna had explained Thomas' power play to Mrs. Butte the afternoon after Mr. Carson's departure. She had offered to go directly to His Lordship and own her betrayal, but Anna had stopped her. "We don't want to tip our hand yet, Mrs. Butte. It could help us to have Mr. Barrow thinking you are still on his side."

If she had any hope that Mr. Carson might forgive her, Lucille was going to have to take steps to prove her devotion. Most of the household were resisting Mr. Barrow's leadership out of loyalty to Mr. Carson. Lucille knew that she would have to appear to support Mr. Barrow in order to deceive him into thinking she was still on his side. Anna had not let Mrs. Butte know the full story behind Mr. Barrow's plotting, but she read enough between the lines to know that he was threatening the family. The only thing that really concerned her was that he was threatening Mr. Carson.

_We've ways of dealing with the likes of him, don't we, love?_ She asked her reflection. A familiar dark smile answered her. It had been years since she'd needed to call on that Darkness; not since Mr. Butte's unfortunate accident.

-00-

Mr. Carson had been gone less than a week when Lucille saw her first opportunity to show her devotion.

Mr. Levinson had decided that the continent was not for him. He and Mrs. Levinson were headed back to America soon and would be stopping briefly at Grantham House. Planning to travel with them to America, Ivy had returned to London to await her future employer. Ivy was a harmless moron in Lucille's opinion, but when her first act upon returning to Grantham House had been to report to Mr. Barrow and deliver a letter from James, Lucille decided to take more interest in the girl.

Mrs. Butte was aware of the sordid history between Barrow and James. She found it odd that the two men were now friends. If Thomas had a weakness, it might be in his friendship with Mr. Kent. A day after Ivy had returned, Mrs. Butte was able to corner her in the laundry room.

"I trust you left all well in Yorkshire?"

"Huh?"

"James sent Mr. Barrow a note. I wondered if there was anything amiss at Downton."

"Oh, I think Jimmy were just sending a friendly note to Mr. Barrow."

"Odd how chummy they are, considering their past."

"What do you mean?"

Lucille rolled her eyes. This girl was hopeless; best to take the direct approach. "I mean Mr. Barrow kissing James against his will."

"He what now? You should not be spreading such rumors, Mrs. Butte." Ivy was scandalized.

"Not rumors, girl. In fact, if I could get my hands on that note, I could probably prove it to you. It was likely a love letter."

"But Jimmy likes women. He tried something funny with me once."

"Naïve girl, just because he liked you doesn't mean he doesn't like Thomas as well. You'd better wise up before you head to America or they'll eat you alive. Now, where is that letter?"

"Mr. Barrow keeps all his private correspondence locked up. I saw him put the letter away myself."

"Where does he keep it?" Lucille did not dare to hope…

"Bottom right drawer of the butler's desk." Ivy blurted out.

Lucille smiled darkly. It seemed fate was on her side. There was not a desk or door in this house for which she did not have a key. "Oh. If it's locked up, then it is beyond me. Oh, well." She swept out of the room, leaving a confused Ivy behind her. _Not that the girl is ever not confused_, Mrs. Butte thought to herself.

The next few days were a blur as the Americans arrived and prepared to leave again. Very late, the night before their departure Mrs. Butte was surprised to find herself confronted by Ivy in the kitchen.

"You took Mr. Barrow's letters." The girl accused.

"I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Butte batted her eyes in what she considered an innocent way.

"Mr. Barrow accused me of taking Jimmy's letters from his desk, but I never did. I've been thinking about it. It must have been you. You were interested in those letters."

"Was I? I don't recall that."

"You were. And you knew where they were kept."

"And how did I know that?" Mrs. Butte asked her, pointedly.

"I told you. You must remember." But her confidence faltered.

"Perhaps I do." Mrs. Butte shrugged.

"I shall tell Mr. Barrow."

"You mean you didn't mention it to him yet?"

"Not yet, but I've a mind…"

"I doubt that very much."

"What?"

Enjoying herself, Lucille raised her voice and spoke very clearly. "I don't think you've a mind of any sort, girl. In fact, I think you are a fool. You will likely be a failure in America. You're best not even going."

Tears welled in Ivy's eyes. "Why would you say that?"

"I feel it is better to know the harsh truths of life before you ruin yourself with false hopes. Take it from me; there is nothing more painful than false hopes." Her eyes darkened, causing the young kitchen maid to back away from the shorter woman. But Mrs. Butte's expression changed in a flash, "But then all hope is false until it comes true."

"I…I suppose so." Ivy stammered as the tears began to fall. She was more unsettled by Mrs. Butte's smile than she had been by her dark stare.

"I am sorry if I upset you, Ivy. I should not have said anything. Pay me no mind." _That should be easy._ "Here, let me get you a cool cloth for your eyes. You can't show up for the boat train with puffy eyes." She stepped past Ivy and took a cloth from beside the sink. Mrs. Butte wet the cloth and dabbed at the girl's red eyes.

"There now." She soothed.

After a few moments, Ivy's sobbing subsided. Ivy leaned over the sink to wet the cloth anew. Quick as lightening, Mrs. Butte brought a heavy, cast iron skillet down onto the back of the girl's head, killing her instantly.

"Oops." Lucille giggled as she pushed the body upon the drain board. She hummed as she set to work. Lucille was glad Mrs. Patmore was so particular about keeping her knives sharp. She was also grateful her father had taught her his trade of butchering even though she was only a girl. Lucille was quite gifted and had been very handy in Mr. Butte's business until he had hit her one too many times.

As she went methodically about her business, Lucille hoped there was enough fresh sage in the pantry.

-00-

"Have you seen Ivy, Mrs. Butte?" Anna asked with concern.

"Not since last night." Lucille smiled sweetly. "Perhaps she has already gone ahead. Are her things gone?"

"Yes." Anna admitted, though her curiosity was not sated.

"There you are. She'll meet them at the train or the boat, I dare say."

"Yes, I dare say. It's just very unlike Ivy not to say goodbye."

_This one is too smart by half,_ the Darkness thought.

_But she is on our side,_ Lucille reminded herself. _For now. _

TBC…

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**A/N I know this is rather dark, but it really is meant to be rather funny (in an absurdist, dark way). Did I mention that Mrs. Butte is bonkers in this? And I wanted to give her free rein.**

**This is largely inspired by Imelda Staunton's West End stint as Mrs. Lovett in Sweeney Todd, and yes, I am going to 'go there', so if references to cannibalism gross you out, you should not progress any further. **

**FYI, updates will not be as regular as the main story, but should be about every other day.**

**BTW, I am taking requests for who to off…the list is growing quite long. I think Lord G. will be saying, 'Not another one' quite a lot. Reviews will determine how far this experiment goes on. I have at least 3 chapters, but can probably do 10 pretty easily. It's all up to you guys. Is this just to crazy to continue?  
**


	2. Meet Me at Pelican Stair

"Where did these bangers come from, Mrs. Butte?" Mrs. Patmore asked as she immerged from the pantry.

"They were delivered yesterday. Some new vendor trying to solicit our business. We probably won't switch from White's but he offered me such a good deal, I couldn't say no. They were practically free."

"Hmm. They look fresh, best serve them tonight." Mrs. Patmore commented. "It's a shame Mr. Carson isn't here; he is a great fan of bangers and mash."

-00-

_That was probably the tastiest dinner Ivy ever made,_ Lucille smiled to herself that evening. Lucille unlocked the top drawer of her dresser and looked at her most prized possessions. Next to the glass jar that held the napkin containing the royal sweat, lay a neatly folded handkerchief with the embroidered monogram 'CC'. He had offered it to her once, when she had a cold. After she had sneezed into it, he insisted that she keep it. She had washed it immediately, but then had placed a dollop of his shaving cream in the middle of the square before folding it up. When she wanted to feel close to him, she would hold the cloth to her nose and imagine she was pressing her face against the white linen of his shirt.

Beside the handkerchief was a pair of shoes. He had put them in the donation bin three years ago as he left to return to Downton. He had taken the time to polish them before discarding them. Something in this gesture had spoken to her and she had retrieved and kept the shoes ever since.

There were other little mementos of his in her drawer; a comb, a lock of hair from when he had allowed her to trim his neck a few years ago, his favorite tea cup, which she told him had been broken and a collar he had 'lost' after a late night ball hosted at Grantham House.

To her treasure trove, she had now added a choice few of Thomas' letters. Lucille combed through Thomas' correspondence. There were some interesting letters that would need to be dealt with later, but, for now, she focused on Thomas' communications with James. Most of it was benign dribble about how Ivy wouldn't let Jimmy get past a peck on the cheek. She imagined that Mr. Barrow was about as interested in this topic as she was. Still, there were a few snippets of useful information. James was meant to be spying on Mrs. Hughes and trying to intercept any communication from Mr. Carson or Mrs. Patmore. _That will never do._

A few days after poor Ivy's disappearance, Mrs. Butte sat at her desk writing James a note. It went out in the evening post. She expected it would reach him by the same time tomorrow, which gave her plenty of time to plan.

-00-

"Mrs. Butte?" He walked down the steps to join her on the tidal flat. James could not tell if the tide was coming in or going out, but he had heard that the Thames changed swiftly here. Wapping was nothing like Brighton. Instead of a sandy beach, the riverbank was lined with large rocks, ships' garbage and layers of London detritus. The smell was terrible. It seemed an odd place for a meeting. "I was expecting Mr. Barrow."

_How adorable, the beautiful blond dolt is just smart enough to be suspicious._ Lucille smiled her warmest smile. It sent a shiver up Jimmy's spine, though he blamed it on the cold air coming off the Thames.

"Mr. Barrow is stuck at Grantham House for a while longer, so he sent me to ask you to wait."

"He said he wanted to meet about Ivy. Has there been any news?" Jimmy had been very concerned about her since the report of her failing to meet the Levinson's at the boat had arrived at Downton. She was a dim girl, but it was not like her to just disappear.

"There has been, but it is not for me to disclose it." Mrs. Butte said enigmatically.

"Please, if you know anything, you must tell me." He begged.

"I fear it will upset you."

"I am already upset, not knowing. How can telling me make it worse?"

"When you put it like that, it makes sense." Lucille conceded. "I suppose I could tell you the little that I know. But not here."

She gestured to a nearby brick outcropping. It had been built centuries ago to support the walls along the river.

Reluctantly, Jimmy followed her to a niche in the wall. They were out of sight of everyone here. The air was even colder.

"What did Mr. Barrow tell you exactly?"

"Not much. He just sent me this letter." He handed the letter to her. She read it very carefully, though there was no need. The handwriting did look remarkably like Mr. Barrow's, but Lucille had written this note herself.

_J, We must meet. It concerns Ivy. Come to London on Thursday. Tell no one. Meet me at the Pelican Stair, Wapping at 3. T_

She handed him the letter back and smiled as he tucked it deeply into his pocket. "So he didn't tell you about Alfred?"

"What about Alfred?"

"Apparently, Ivy saw him while she was in London. She snuck out at night."

"What? I don't believe it. When? How?" Jimmy stammered.

"According to her, it was not very often, but then, it only takes once, as they say." Mrs. Butte pretended to be sadly disappointed in Ivy's morals.

"I don't believe it." He repeated. She had refused him, why would she accept Alfred? "Are you saying that she's in _trouble_?"

"Yes, she is."

"But what does that have to do with me?"

"Mr. Barrow is just looking out for you. She swears that it is Alfred's, but Mr. Barrow wanted to be sure it wasn't yours."

"Mine? As if I had the chance! She was locked up tighter than Queen Victoria's knickers when it came to me." He sank onto a stone set into the wall.

"There, there, James. I believe you and so will Mr. Barrow. But you must convince Alfred."

"What?"

"He won't have anything to do with her. He's claiming the child must be yours."

"That creep! I'll show him!" He tried to stand up, but her hand on his shoulder held him down. She was very strong for so small a woman.

"Now, James, you must be calm. I know that Mr. Barrow was going to ask you to write a note to Alfred. Something very simple." She reached into her tiny green handbag and brought out a neatly folded piece of paper and a fountain pen.

He took the writing implement from her and spread the paper over a flat rock. "What should I write?"

"The simpler, the better, I think." Lucille suggested. "Something like, 'Nothing ever happened between Ivy and me. Please don't hurt her. It was always you.'"

Jimmy scribbled the note quickly and then refolded the page carefully. He turned to hand Mrs. Butte the pen, but she was no longer in front of him. Before he could wonder at this, Mrs. Butte had slipped a garrote of fishing wire over his head. The more he fought her, the more her strength and excitement grew. Finally, his struggles ceased and the final twitches stilled. She waited a few minutes more to be sure he was dead.

Lucille picked up the freshly written note, but left the pen where it had fallen. She smiled to see that the tide was beginning to rise. Quickly, she stepped out of the niche and moved across the rocks to the steps back to the city level.

She was back at Grantham House within twenty minutes. She had come and gone without notice. She made a show of emerging from her office and joining most of the other staff in the servant's hall for tea. A few minutes after four, a red faced and flustered Mr. Barrow came bustling in the backdoor.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Barrow?" Miss Baxter asked.

"None of your bloody business." Thomas snapped.

Lucille smiled into her teacup. She had started down this path to help Mr. Carson, to prove her devotion was greater than that Scottish she devil's, but now, Lucille had to admit, she was starting to have fun.

TBC…

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**AN/ I hope you are having fun too. I think Imelda would just play the HELL out of this!**


	3. A Visit to an Old Friend

**AN/ Thank you for your kind reviews and for reading. Let's turn up the heat on Thomas a bit, shall we?**

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Lucille's plan had been to finish off Mr. Barrow next with a tastefully dramatic suicide, accessorized with Jimmy's note. She could give the authorities a narrative simple enough for even them to understand; Ivy, James and Thomas, all victims of a bloody love triangle. It would have been tied up nice and neat, no further questions asked, but she had a taste for killing now. She could not believe how easy it was; how stupidly the lambs walked to the slaughter.

She'd read all of Thomas' letters. There were others out there who were plotting with Mr. Barrow to ruin the reputation of Downton and of Mr. Carson. If she could take care of them as well, how much greater would his gratitude be? He would have to see that she loved him; have to see that no one else could possibly love him more.

And now that she had mastered Thomas' handwriting, what was to stop her?

_Absolutely nothing._ The Darkness answered.

-00-

Thomas took the phone call from Downton himself.

"No. I haven't heard from him. What do you mean he is missing? How should I know if he might be with Ivy? Of course. Of course. I'll ask around, but why would he come to London? No, nor would I!"

Lucille fought back a smile as he slammed down the phone. She knew that Thomas knew that James had come to London. The telegraph she had created had told him exactly when to meet James at the National Gallery. But James had never shown. James had kept another appointment, poor lamb.

Killing Thomas now would be too easy. Lucille wanted to watch him suffer from a front row seat. She wanted to grab a bag of popcorn and watch Mr. Barrow slowly unravel. This was better than a movie; there was sound!

And once her latest batch of letters found their way to her marks, the movie would only get better.

-00-

"Thank you, Miss Baxter, you've been most cooperative." The constable held the door of the butler's hall open and the Lady's maid scampered out quickly. Molesley offered her a supportive smile. He had been waiting for her, but she brushed past him and disappeared up the stairs mumbling something about Lady Grantham's lace.

From behind the butler's desk, the detective called out, "Who's next, Norris?"

"A Mrs. Butte."

"Good lord, another B?"

"She's the last, guv."

"Of the B's or of the staff?"

"Both, guv."

"Thank heaven."

Half an hour later, the constable and the detective left Grantham House after a few words with the Lord himself. "Remind me why we had to take so many interviews for a simple case of two servants running off together, guv."

"Because Lord Grantham knows people more important than you or I, Norris." Detective Vance knew this was less of an investigation and more of an act of mollification. They were only going through the motions of an investigation. Lord Grantham had pulled some strings and demanded Scotland Yard get involved in the disappearance of two servants even though the truth was pretty obvious. Vance would play his part and enjoy saying 'I told you so' when the pair showed up at a hotel in Bayswater.

-00-

An atmosphere was building around Grantham House. Thomas was jumpy and distracted, which was unsettling the rest of the staff. Mrs. Patmore's sharp tongue had been quieted. Miss Baxter had retreated into herself so far she was almost invisible. In short, the whole downstairs was on tenterhooks while Mrs. Butte tried to pretend it bothered her. The truth was, it invigorated her. All this fear was her doing and it made her feel powerful.

Thomas was well and truly spooked. He had not given Ivy's disappearance a second thought, but Jimmy had missed their meeting. Something was very wrong. Had Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes decided to take all his allies from him? If so, where were they sending them? It was difficult for Thomas to imagine the two heads of household resorting to secreting people away from Grantham House and Downton Abbey without mentioning it to Lord Grantham. But, if the Lord was in on the scheme, he would not have called in Scotland Yard.

Thomas needed to speed up his plans. The family would be out most of tomorrow. After the police had left, Thomas hurried to the telephone alcove on the ground floor and placed a quick call. He was a little more relaxed after making his arrangements for tomorrow. He would not have been relaxed if he had seen Mrs. Butte's greedy smile as she listened at the grate that funneled every word from the telephone alcove to the upstairs serving pantry.

-00-

The next day, an anxious looking Thomas made his excuses for going out on an errand before lunch. The main gossip at lunch concerned the quickly deteriorating state of mind of one under butler. No one commented on Mrs. Butte's absence. She often took the opportunity when the family was away to lunch with her own family, but that was not where she went today. Today, she rushed to arrive at Thomas' destination well before him.

Rising up from the Temple Underground station, Lucille walked with the river to her right for a time before heading up Carmelite Street. The offices for Carlisle Publishing were located in the Carlisle Building located on Whitefriars Street between Tudor and Fleet Street in Holborn. She smiled wryly at the brass plaque declaring the building's name. Mrs. Butte supposed she might name a building after herself if she had the means.

Sir Richard had certainly built himself an empire. Mrs. Butte knew he had built it on the backs of unfortunate people whose lives he had exposed for the world to mock. She knew that Mr. Carson and the Crawleys would be the next victims if Thomas had his way. Lucille was here to meet with the building's eponymous owner in order to prevent this. She had no real plan, but an eerie calm settled over her as she slipped into the stairwell, clutching her tiny handbag, after determining the location of Sir Richard's office.

-00-

"Thank you, Mr. Barrow. You certainly have given me a lot to consider. I will speak to my society editor and see what he thinks your information might be worth. We will be in touch shortly."

"I was rather hoping to handle this quickly. Things are becoming decidedly hostile at Grantham House." Thomas could not hide his nervous sweat from the cool Sir Richard. He wished he were not so desperate, but he could not understand what was happening at Grantham House and it had him very anxious.

"We will be in touch shortly." The publishing magnate repeated. It was unusual for him to handle such a trivial matter personally, but he still had a singular interest in the Crawley family. His bitterness had faded with time, but he still felt the damage to his ego acutely. Had enough time passed for him to publish what he knew of that arrogant minx's past without it seeming like a personal attack? After all, this under butler would take his story to another paper if Carlisle refused him.

Sir Richard sat back at his desk considering these questions. He swiveled his chair to look out the window. Another option occurred to him. He could call Mary, he could warn her. How would she receive his call? Carlisle knew Matthew had died almost two years ago. He had sent condolences and received a thank you note from her maid. He ought to have been insulted by that, but he doubted anyone had received anything more.

In his reverie, he barely looked up as the door to his office opened again. He had told Mrs. Jakes he would be working through lunch, as usual. He thought she had left after admitting Mr. Barrow.

"I'll take some tea, please, Mrs. Jakes." He ordered without turning from the window. Her steps retreated and the door closed again. A few moments later, it opened again and he turned towards her.

"Who are you?" He asked of the diminutive woman in front of him. She was holding a tea tray in front of her. There were two cups on the tray.

"Mrs. Jakes was not at her desk. You said you wanted tea. I thought I might join you." Mrs. Butte smiled sweetly.

"That does not answer my question. Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"No wonder you do so well in this business." She tittered. "But you forgot When and Where."

"What?"

"No. When and where." Lucille could not help giggling. This was an absurd conversation. Sir Richard would no doubt agree with her, especially if he knew what was coming.

"Let's start again." Sir Richard sighed with exasperation. "Who are you?"

"I am a colleague of Mr. Barrow's. I've been helping him and I want to be sure I get my share. Also, I think there may be a few things he is not telling you about the Crawley family."

"I have not come to any agreement with Mr. Barrow yet. If he is your partner, you should accompany him to meetings, not follow him surreptitiously. If you do not trust him, that is none of my concern."

She set the tray on his desk beside his chair and began to pour the tea. "You have a point, Sir Richard. I will have to take this up with Thomas personally, eventually." She handed him a cup and saucer, but they slipped on the exchange and the tea spilled into his lap.

Jumping up, Carlisle cursed. "You stupid bitch!"

Lucille smiled as she took up a napkin and began to blot his pants as she pushed him back into his chair. "You're half right." Carlisle did not even feel the knife blade as it pierced his femoral artery just beside his groin. He was vaguely aware that the tea was growing warmer and the wet seemed to be spreading across his lap as she blotted. The great and powerful man was dead before he realized he was dying.

Lucille almost left him like that, but a thought occurred to her. She took out her knife again and took the sugar spoon from the tea tray.

TBC…

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**AN/ Yes, I borrowed one of my favorite kills in cinema. It is from the movie Hannibal, where Dr. Lecter kills a pickpocket. It's very bloody, but did not seem overly violent; it was cold, impersonal and almost elegant.**

**If I start to enjoy this too much, I promise to pursue therapy;)**


	4. Thomas Under Pressure

Lord Grantham fought to keep his breakfast down as the Inspector told him about Sir Richard.

"He was found by his secretary after she returned from lunch. She had admitted Mr. Barrow before leaving for her break. There were no other appointments in his diary for lunch. We are going to need to talk to Mr. Barrow again."

"He was stabbed, you say? Did he not have time to leave a clue as who his attacker was?"

"The wound was very precise. It appears he died very quickly and the killer watched him die."

"How do you know that?" Robert was horrified at the notion.

"There were postmortem mutilations."

"Mutilations?" Robert's stomach lurched, but he kept his stomach's contents in place for the time being.

"It won't be in the papers, but his eyes and tongue were removed." The detective said in an almost bored voice. "It's not too hard to imagine the message the killer was trying to send. This is not going to be an easy case. Mr. Carlisle had many enemies."

"Then you are not convinced Barrow is responsible for this."

"He was the last identifiable person to see Mr. Carlisle alive, which is not a good thing for him, but that is not enough for an arrest. It is most important that he talk openly with us. If he did not commit the deed, he might have seen the person who did. I am still not convinced this is related to the other two cases." Detective Vance admitted. "Do you know what Mr. Barrow was doing at Mr. Carlisle's offices?"

"No. I was not aware anyone in this house still communicated with Sir Richard." Even Robert could imagine what Barrow had been doing at that hateful man's office. But what story was he selling? "I shall ring for him. Please, feel free to use this room."

-00-

Thomas was shaking by the time he returned back downstairs after speaking to Detective Vance. He quickly locked himself into the butler's office. What was going on? Two people tied to this household were missing and another had been brutally murdered. All three could be traced to him. If the detectives started digging, would they learn about the accusations Alfred had made after the incident with Jimmy?

_Oh, God, where was Jimmy?_ If only he would show up, Thomas' fears would disappear. Thomas felt he needed to get out of Grantham House. But to do that, he needed money and fast. Did Thomas dare approach any other newspapers right now? The answer was no. But someone else could sell the Crawley story. Thomas thought for a moment before unlocking the top drawer of his desk. None of his letters had gone missing since Ivy's disappearance, so he had not felt it necessary to relocate them. What had that silly girl wanted with his letters to Jimmy, anyway? She'd taken some of his other letters too. Thomas as worried what she might know. He hoped Ivy would show up soon. He didn't really care if she was alive or dead; he just wanted to know exactly where she was.

Underneath the letters Thomas located a small pocket journal containing his important contact information. Leafing through, he found what he was looking for very quickly. But would she be willing to help him? They had parted on bad terms, but he thought her dislike for the Crawleys would outweigh her disdain for him. She had sent him a forwarding address after all. Maybe they could help each other.

Before putting the journal away, Thomas jotted down another address from his book. She was a long shot indeed, but if he was to need her help, he would need to ask soon.

-00-

Before luncheon, Lord Grantham summoned Barrow to the small library that served as his study.

"You sent for me, My Lord?"

"Sit down, Barrow. Would you care for a whiskey?" It was a bit early in the day for a wee nip, but Barrow nodded gratefully. "Water?" Barrow shook his head.

Handing the younger man the drink, Robert took a sip from his own, freshly topped off glass. "There are some strange things going on in this household, Mr. Barrow."

"No argument here." Thomas agreed sardonically.

"I believe in your innocence in this matter, Barrow, but there are other matters in which I do not think you are quite so innocent."

Thomas made no reply, but sipped at the strong whiskey.

"I need you to tell me what you were doing in Sir Richard's office."

Thomas could not find the energy to lie. If His Lordship truly believed in Thomas' innocence, he might protect him and offer him the same assistance he offered Bates. "I wanted to know how much my knowledge of the family was worth."

Robert had not expected Barrow to be so forthcoming. "And, how much was it worth?"

"I was to expect a call today or tomorrow."

"And did you have a sum in mind, or were you going to sell to him regardless?"

"I needed the money. I wanted to get away from Grantham House as quickly as possible. I don't feel safe here anymore."

"Because of Ivy and James." Robert nodded. It was not a question. "You and I may be the only two who feel there is something quite wrong there. I don't for one instant believe that either of them ran away. Not that I would know Ivy. I thought she'd turned up again until Lady Grantham told me that was Madge.

"Still, Mrs. Patmore said she was a silly girl, but not likely to run off. As you suggested, I've contacted Lady Ansthrother, thinking James might have returned there, but she has not heard from him since last Valentine's day."

"He has no family, My Lord. There is nowhere else we can even start to look."

"Then we are left waiting, Barrow. Something of which I am not over fond." Thomas refilled both their empty glasses. Lord Grantham waved him off when he offered water. "I am bringing Carson back from the clinic. Mary reports he is as sound as a drum."

"I am glad to hear it, My Lord. I think that is wise." To Thomas' great personal shock, he meant it.

-00-

On the other side of the door, Lucille smiled a toothy grin. _He is coming home,_ she thought as she lifted the handkerchief to her face and inhaled the aroma of sandalwood. She would have to be very cautious once he returned. Though he did not look at her the same way he looked at the Scottish sorceress, Mr. Carson was very observant and always aware of her activities. It would never do for him to find out about her surprise gift to him before she was ready to put a bow on it.

Later that night, Mrs. Butte cursed as she opened the drawer that had previously held Thomas' letters. Now it was empty except for a few old ledgers. Thomas must have cleared it out in preparation for Mr. Carson's return tomorrow. It had been her nightly habit to come down to the butler's office with a glass of wine and read any new letters she could find.

With nothing new to read, Lucille went through the drawers methodically looking for anything out of place. In the topmost center drawer, she thought the stationary looked as though it had been moved. She took out the stack of cream colored paper and looked at it in the harsh electric light. She could see scribbles of indentions and could almost make out the words. Then an idea struck her. Lucille lit a match and lit the candle on the desk. Mr. Carson still distrusted electricity and insisted that every room contained candles and matches always at the ready.

Lucille held her wine glass in the flame and watched the bottom of the glass bowl blacken with soot. She wiped some of the soot from the glass and spread it over the page. Letters and numbers popped into stark relief, revealing two names and two addresses. One of the addresses was very familiar. Little did Thomas know that one of his intended cohorts had already received a letter from him. Possibly, the former Lady's Maid was already on her way to London. Mrs. Butte quickly traced the writing before draining the last bit of wine from her glass. It was still hot from the flame. The warm red liquid burned pleasantly as it slid down her throat like fresh blood.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ No deaths today, just some gruesome details about Sir Richard. The next death is pretty nasty (you have a 50% chance to guess who it is).**


	5. Laundry Day

**AN/ I'm back to corrupt you guys further;) And our mystery victim today is...**

* * *

"Ah, Miss Braithwaite, we've been expecting you. Your letter arrived just this morning." Mrs. Butte had easily intercepted the letter written to Thomas. "Please follow me."

Edna's owlish eyes blinked in confusion. Who was this strange little woman? She wondered, but she followed obediently as she was led into the laundry room.

"I am Mrs. Butte, the housekeeper here at Grantham House. I'll inform Mr. Barrow that you are here. Please have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Do you need anything for the baby?"

"No, thank you. We're fine." Edna said, still not sure of this odd housekeeper. Mrs. Butte left them and Edna looked around the room. Edna had not served with the Crawleys long enough to ever come to Grantham House. This laundry room was very different from the facility at Downton. It was much more compact, but had more sinks and wringers than at Downton. In one corner, under a great chimney, a large iron cauldron was bubbling over a low gas fire. It smelled of yesterday's laundry, stale bleach and lye. There was a grate in the floor and the large vessel was hung so that the water could be tipped out of the cauldron and directly into the drain.

Edna lifted little Tommy from her hip and lay him in a bin of freshly pressed linens before she sat down in a ladder backed chair. She looked sadly down at the little creature. She still could not find it in her heart to love this little boy. To her he was less a child and more the living evidence of life's terrible sense of irony. After she'd begun to suspect she was pregnant, she had reread her little book. She'd found a few footnotes that she'd overlooked before. From her initial reading, she thought she was safe from 'catching pregnant' if she was less than 14 days or more than 18 days removed from her last cycles ending. She had not read the notation at the end of the chapter saying that some women could be fertile as early as 10 days after and as late as 22 days after. That would have been helpful information fourteen months ago.

She'd been so careful, had planned so meticulously only to have that Hughes woman call her bluff and throw her out before she could secure her prize. The only person she'd managed to trick was herself. _So far_. She'd decided against confronting Mr. Branson until the child was developed enough to look like him. She would not be called a tramp and be turned away. If talking to Barrow now could injure the Crawleys and Mrs. Hughes, that was good enough for her. If Edna could line her pockets in the process, all the better.

Not that she was doing poorly. She had moved to High Wycombe, concocting a back story about a young husband killed in a mining accident in the north. A vicar and his wife had taken pity on her and hired her despite her advanced 'condition.' Since Tommy's birth, they'd helped her raise the boy. Their own children were grown and gone and they cherished both the baby and Edna. Edna resented them and found their attentions condescending and cloying. She'd often thought of leaving Tommy with them and heading to America, but she was going to try to catch Tom Branson once more before giving up on this scheme.

Her selfish thoughts of were interrupted by that ridiculous woman coming back.

"Oh, it's the silliest thing, he's stuck helping Mr. Bates right now, but he will be down shortly. He wanted me to ask you if you brought the documents he requested. "

"Of course. That is why I am here."

"Yes, yes, silly me. Here, let me help you with your coat." Edna rolled her eyes at the woman's fawning, but allowed herself to be spun round as her coat was taken off her and then inexplicably wrapped back around her, pinning her arms to her side. Also, the sleeves seemed to be wrapped around her throat. She started to call out, but her air was already cut off by the tightening coat. Edna tried to turn, but her knees were knocked out from under her from behind and she fell painfully to them on the stone floor. She felt one arm of the coat wrapped around her neck yet again.

Spots began to pop into her vision as she grew faint. Edna was only partially aware of Mrs. Butte cranking the coat tighter around her neck, using one of the rooms many laundry wringers. One of the coat arms was being pulled through the rolls while Mrs. Butte held the other arm of the coat wrapped around the crank itself.

Soon, Edna's lifeless body hung by her coat from the laundry wringer. Lucille hummed a merry tune as she searched Edna for the documents she had instructed the smug little minx to bring. After locating the birth certificate and Edna's letter to Mr. Branson, the euphoric housekeeper slung the body into the bubbling cauldron. The smell in the room changed almost imperceptibly. The smell was not at all remarkable in this context.

Lucille added more lye to the cauldron and placed the heavy lid on the large iron pot. Mrs. Butte had already warned the staff away from the laundry room today. The staff thought she was using her mother's secret recipe to get some of the tougher stains out of the table linens and sheets.

"Why Lady Mary was allowed to have currant jam with her breakfast in bed is a mystery for the ages," she had joked. Anna had laughed and defended her mistress' choice of jams.

Lucille had handled the laundry issues this morning. She fervently hoped that the newspaper article she'd read on Adolph Luetgert had been accurate. If this took longer than six hours, she might have some trouble. But not as much as Mr. Barrow would have.

Mrs. Butte looked down at the sleeping child. Being a mother herself, she did feel some tenderness for the wee lad. From what she'd heard of Edna, she'd done the boy a good turn. Quickly, she took the bassinet she'd hidden underneath one of the sinks and placed the child in it with an old flannel blanket her daughter had bought at a rummage sale two weeks ago. It should be untraceable.

Lucille read Edna's letter quickly before adding it to the basket along with the birth certificate. Edna's accusatory letter was perfect for the occasion. Nothing in the letter indicated that Edna had intended to stick around. Everything was falling into place just as Lucille had planned. She took this turn of luck as a sign from Providence that her actions were blessed and right. She was helping Mr. Carson, but she was also visiting holy vengeance on some of God's less deserving creatures.

_Amen. _

-00-

"He was at the backdoor, you say?" Lady Grantham looked down at the child with surprise. Carson held the basket gently and nodded.

Lord Grantham read the letter again. "I don't understand."

Carson looked guiltily to his employer. "My Lord, I believe it is possible that this child is indeed Mr. Branson's. The timing is correct."

"The timing? What do you know of this?" Lady Grantham demanded.

"I only learned of it recently, My Lady, but I understand Miss Braithwaite…" He didn't really know the details, so how was he to explain? "It was the last night of the house party."

"He did drink more than usual that night." Robert remembered. "But then, so did most of us." He added glibly.

"Robert! This is no joking matter. This is a child's life we are discussing!" Cora hissed, obviously ashamed to be having this conversation before a staff member, but thankful that staff member was Carson, who seemed to already know more than she did on the subject. "We should return to Downton at once."

"That may not be possible, my dear. The detectives have requested that certain members of the household not leave London." Robert informed her.

This was certainly news to Carson and Lady Cora. The former held his tongue as the latter made inquiries enough for them both. "You never said anything. Whom have they barred from leaving London?"

"Mr. Barrow, of course. Miss Baxter,"

"Baxter? What can they want with her?"

"I don't know. May I continue, my dear?" She gave him a shrug of permission. "Mrs. Patmore, Mary, Carson and myself."

"What? That is preposterous!"

"It is not preposterous. We are not all suspects, just people who knew Carlisle or who might have information about Ivy and James."

"Then we shall have to send for Tom." Cora said decisively. "I will not return to Downton without you. Or Baxter."

"Thank you, my dear, for listing me first." Robert said wryly.

-00-

By midnight, the lye had done its work. By one o'clock, the rest of the house was fast asleep. After emptying the cauldron into the drain, Lucille took the bones she had filtered out of the drain to the kitchen to grind them. Lucille headed up to bed by one thirty safe in the knowledge that Edna Braithwaite was now nothing more than sludge and dust.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ I REALLY hope it goes without saying, but do NOT try any of this at home;) **

**I think we'll get a little more insight into Lucille in the next chapter. I knew this story would not have the following that the true 'Chelsie' stories have, but if you keep reviewing, I'll keep writing. **


	6. Home Life

"Mother?" Lucille called as she entered the house. "Nellie? Clive?"

"In here, mother," Nellie's voice called. Lucille felt guilty, hearing the weariness in the young girl's voice. Most of the year, Lucille was home in the evenings to help with all the little household matters, but during the Season, Mrs. Butte could only come home on her half day or during the odd luncheon. These months were especially taxing for the young girl. _Such a sweet and steady girl, _Lucille thought affectionately.

Mrs. Butte found her daughter in the kitchen, stirring a large pot that was either laundry or dinner. The question was answered when Nellie spooned a large, over used ham bone from the water. Lucille grimaced at the sight for some reason.

"Gran's in her study." Nellie said unnecessarily. Where else would her mother be?

"Has she been behaving herself?"

"She finished her last book. I tried to give her one of the old ones to read, but she recognized it right off, so I had to go out and buy a new one." Nellie apologized.

"Don't worry, my girl, it was six pence well spent." Lucille soothed her. "Any word from Clive?"

"He had a job yesterday. I assume he was paid." Nellie didn't have to say anything more. Lucille understood exactly what she was being told.

Clive had come back from France deeply affected by the war, emotionally and physically. The army had declared him fit, but their evaluations were based on interviews and examinations conducted while he was on so much morphine he hardly knew his own name. Now, in the real world, his every moment was filled with pain due to a back injury sustained in the waning days of the war. Whenever he was able to find work, his pay was immediately spent on the cheapest opiates he could find at a local flop house. If he had been paid today, they could expect to hear from him in a week or so.

"Never mind, love. God looks after fools and children." She gave her daughter a quick peck on the cheek before preparing a tea tray. "I'll take mother her tea and come join you in a tick."

Lucille climbed the narrow stairway into her mother's lair as Lucille thought of it. The rest of the house was kept fastidiously clean. Every surface was free from dust or even fingerprints, but her mother's room was the chaos that balanced the order of the rest of the house. She knocked on the door with her elbow before pushing into the room. Lucille was struck afresh by the scene; her mother sat in a small leather chair in a room filled top to bottom in dusty newspapers, paperback chap books and penny dreadful sheets. It always made Lucille think of Mrs. Haversham surrounded by decaying lace and dust and moldy food. Lucille had thought more than once that all of her problems could disappear with the flick of one match.

The table before her mother was the only clear space in the room. It only remained so through the determined actions of Nellie and Lucille. Evangeline Grosvenor would never have noticed one way or the other.

"Tea time, mum." Lucille whispered. Loud noises were not allowed upstairs. Evangeline did not look up from the fresh white and black pages before her. Lucille set the tea on the table and prepared a cup just the way her mother like, just a squeeze of lemon. She gently pulled the thin book from her mother's hand and replaced it with the cup. The cheap publication had already left black ink smudged on Evangeline's fingers.

As though she were awakening from a hypnotist's thrall, Evangeline's eyes began to clear as she recognized the object she now held. She sipped automatically from the cup and looked up at her daughter, slowly beginning to recognize her as well.

"Nellie?"

"No, it's Lucy, mum."

"Lucy? Ah, yes. You were gone off to the big house today. I've missed you. I wanted to tell you about this poor girl in Clapham. They found her tied to a wagon wheel…" Evangeline set down her tea and began to rummage through the pile of papers to her left. Dust rose up from the pile as she dug deeper. With unerring precision, Evangeline located the group of papers that she sought. Lucille accepted the bundle from her mother, seeing that they were clippings from an old horror novella. The line between penny press news and penny dreadful fiction had long disappeared in Evangeline's mind.

It was sad, but Lucille knew it was probably easier for her this way. It was easier to just accept that the world was a place where horrible and bloody things happened everyday to innocent people. It was easier than asking yourself why something terrible had been done to someone innocent that you loved. You don't have to remember one specific instance when your mind and your life are filled with numberless accounts of murder and violence. You can dilute your pain in a boundless sea of human atrocities.

Lucille looked at the one shelf in the room not covered with dust. The books and articles here were removed and read on a weekly, if not daily basis. They were the articles and papers that described the facts and speculations of Lucille's father's death in increasingly more sensationalized detail.

The stories had begun innocently enough in the main press.

_'Henry Grosvenor, local merchant was brutally murdered in his place of business last Saturday in the early hours of the morning. Persons close to the victim speculate this was the culmination of Mr. Grosvenor's resistance to the pressures of a local gang who has been extorting 'protection' money from neighborhood businesses. There were no witnesses. No arrests have been made.'_

But the penny press had been hungry for something sensational and the tale of a butcher being butchered was too delicious to pass up. They'd had a field day with their nonsensical headlines, _'Sweet Meats for the Sweet' 'Death Grind Gang' 'What's in the Sausage?' 'Cleaver of Death'_

Some of the tamer ones kept the details vague and let the mind of the reader fill in the gruesome particulars.

_'Though unsubstantiated, it is suspected that the perpetrators made use of Mr. Grosvenor's tools of the trade. Certain body parts were removed and the sausage grinder looked to have been freshly used.'_

But the stories written over a month after his death were so far removed from the facts of the case Lucille would find it laughable if the victim were not her own father.

_"There are an astonishing number of missing persons unaccounted for in this area of London. This reporter cannot help but speculate that Mr. Grosvenor had been cooperating with the gang for some time, helping them dispose of the undesirable evidence of their activities. But this time, the butcher was on the wrong end of the grinder." _

What none of the stories mentioned, because no one knew, was that there had indeed been a witness. Hidden amongst the barrels of salt pork, Evangeline had seen everything that transpired. Not even the police knew she had been there. The shock had turned her almost catatonic and all the authorities' questions had been handled by a twelve year old Lucille.

Gradually, Evangeline had regained her voice and some of her sense. Evangeline had told Lucille about the attack in painstaking, gory detail a thousand times since then. They had tortured her husband, first beating him before putting his hand in the grinder while he still breathed. It was all for money. He had already been paying them, but they wanted more. They wanted to scare him and all the other local merchants. Evangeline was convinced that they had only meant to take his hand, but they had gone too far and he had bled to death before they were done with their games.

'They' had been members of the Hoxton Gang. Many of the gang had eventually been brought to justice, but not for murder. They had confessed to multiple counts of extortion and corruption, but most of them had escaped the hangman's noose.

Since her husband's murder and the subsequent coverage of it, Evangeline had become obsessed with the macabre. She began by buying all the penny press papers she could find. When that did not satisfy her, she began to buy the penny dreadful publications. She had been absurdly proud when one story 'based on true events' was suspiciously like her husband's murder. She had read all of these stories to her young daughter. It was in these pages Lucille had first heard of Adolph Luetgert and garrote wires and cannibalism. Lucille could name a hundred ways to kill and almost as many ways to dispose of a body. She had learned it all at her mother's knee.

Lucille had done her best to keep the business open and her mother functional, but eventually, they had been forced to sell the shop to Mr. Lawrence Butte, a large man in his late thirties who kindly let Mrs. Grosvenor and Lucille remain in the rooms above the shop. His motivation for doing so became apparent as soon as Lucille turned fourteen. Mr. Butte asked young Lucille to marry him. Knowing a refusal meant she and her mother would be turned out, Lucille had agreed. Evangeline was in such a fragile state, it was the only thing Lucille could do.

Lawrence had not been a terrible husband initially. Lucille had helped out around the shop as she raised their two children. Eventually, the difference in their ages led Lawrence to become insanely jealous of every man who came through the shop. He began to threaten and frighten off their regular customers. Despite Lucille's hard work, the fortunes of the shop diminished and Mr. Butte began to drink more.

The alcohol fueled Mr. Butte's impotent rage until he began to beat his wife on a regular basis. Ever a meek and helpful woman, Mrs. Butte had at first accepted this treatment as a dutiful wife, but Evangeline had seen what was going on. Even if she could not communicate directly with her daughter anymore, when Lucille took refuge in her mother's room, Evangeline would tell her stories of wives who had killed their husbands and gotten away with it. Lucille had resisted her mother's influence for almost two years until one night during the war, Lawrence was in a fine fit and threw her against the butcher block. As he had turned to walk away from her, from the ground, Lucille had grabbed his foot and tripped him. Mr. Butte had hit his head on the edge of the counter and had been knocked unconscious. Thinking quickly, Mrs. Butte had managed to prop him up on a dolly just high enough to slip a cleaver underneath him. Then, she had dropped his heavy body onto the knife before walking calmly upstairs to bed.

Mr. Butte had been found the next morning by his the delivery boy. The matter had been ruled an accident. Mrs. Butte had taken over the business, but it had been so poorly run in recent years, their debt was very great. None of the creditors were willing to take a chance on a woman butcher, so the debts were called in. Lucille had been forced to sell to satisfy them. She had moved her family to a smaller house and began working as a day servant to make ends meet.

Mrs. Butte was not a woman who would dwell on the past. She did not pity herself or her mother. Life happened. Either you survived or you didn't. It was pointless to dwell on the inequities of Fate or to hope for revenge on the agents of Fate that impacted one's life. Lucille herself was now an agent of Fate. Life had prepared her for this job by providing her with a thorough and vast knowledge of death thanks to her mother's madness.

"Mum, I was looking for that story about the farmer from Canada. Do you remember the one?"

Evangeline's face lit up with the smile she offered her daughter. "Yes. That was a good one." She shuffled over to one of the shelves and thumbed quickly through her larger 'true life' novels. She found what she sought and handed it to Lucille, still beaming. "Here it is, Lucy love."

Mrs. Butte gathered up the forgotten tea. Before heading downstairs for her own tea with Nellie, Lucille kissed her mother's cheek. "Thank you, mum."

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ So ****_that's_**** where Lucille is getting all of her sick and twisted information and more than a little of her psychosis. Plus, she is a butcher's daughter and acted as a butcher for many years, so she knows how to bleed an animal (Sir Richard). So far, she's only killed people I don't like, so I'm fairly sympathetic to her cause. We'll see if that changes when she runs out of guilty victims… **

**Next victim…absolute 'meta' silliness.**


	7. A Bit of a Bully

"Did you enjoy your half day, Mrs. Butte?" Mr. Carson said conversationally as they both stood in the servant's courtyard.

"I spent it with my family, Mr. Carson, as I usually do."

"How is young Nellie? We haven't seen her this Season. I know we've been busy, but she is always welcome to drop by for a meal with you once a week."

"That's very kind, Mr. Carson, but she's busy looking after my mother."

"On her own? She can't be much older than fourteen."

"She is fifteen."

"How quickly they grow up. I'm still picturing that little girl that used to follow you around on your rounds." Mr. Carson smiled kindly.

Lucille was enjoying this conversation, but her mind was frantic. _Why is he out here in the courtyard?_ A terrible thought occurred to her. Perhaps Mr. Carson was here for the same reason she was, he was waiting for the evening post. Mrs. Butte had met the mailman morning and evening for the post faithfully for the past week. The poor young man was starting to think she was sweet on him.

Mrs. Butte did not want to think why Mr. Carson might be so eager for the post. He was probably waiting to hear from pretty Mrs. Mac Scottish Britches. The thought made her heart turn cold. How could he be so cordial to her as he waited for word from his Scotch tramp?

"Did Mr. Branson arrive today?" She asked, trying to turn the conversation to something that might be useful to her.

"Not yet. He should be in London first thing tomorrow and will be meeting with Murphy about what is to be done. I suppose the first step will be to determine if the child is truly his. Beyond that, I've no idea."

"It's an unsavory business, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Butte shook her head in dismay before adding quietly, "I understand you knew about it."

Carson looked guilty. Mrs. Butte knew that he only knew about it because the madame of Downton knew about it. Really, what kind of household were they running out there in Yorkshire? Apparently, wholesome entertainment was in short supply. "I learned of the incident well after the fact, Mrs. Butte. No one suspected there was a child. No one thought Miss Braithwaite was foolish enough to let herself- that is, no one thought- well, you know. Miss Braithwaite is not a fool, she is a calculating opportunist."

_Not anymore. _ "I understand. Why don't you go back inside, Mr. Carson? You must have better things to do than wait for the mail. I am already waiting for the post myself, Mr. Nash is to bring me some stamps to purchase."

Realizing that she was correct, and unable to explain why he was waiting so anxiously for the post, Charles agreed and went back into Grantham House to correct some of the errors Mr. Barrow had made in the house accounts.

Lucille sighed with relief as Mr. Carson left her to her vigil. She needed to be able to peruse all the letters to Thomas in private. It would never do for her to miss _his_ letter. _That would be awkward, to say the least._

Mr. Nash sighed when he saw that she was waiting for him yet again. Honestly, she was old enough to be his mother! Though, if he admitted to himself, her attentions were flattering; it was not as though he had any other admirers. She wasn't an unattractive woman, he confessed. Mr. Nash was not a tall man, so her proportions did appeal to him, but her behavior was so odd. _"What are you thinking, man?"_

"Good evening, Mrs. Butte."

"Good evening, Mr. Nash. I hope you've good news for us today."

"I hope so too." He handed her the large bundle of letters for Grantham House. She took them swiftly and began to rifle through them, ignoring him completely. "Shall I see you tomorrow, Mrs. Butte?"

"Mmhmm." She answered dismissively as she continued to flip through the post. Mr. Nash began to climb the stairs back to street level more than a little disappointed in his reception. But then, she seemed to find what she was looking for and she chuckled to herself. Mrs. Butte looked up at him with a smile that he found very charming. "You have indeed brought good news, Mr. Nash. I shall have a treat for you tomorrow morning."

"I look forward to it, Mrs. Butte." He answered honestly. Maybe he would encourage this. If he got a few pastries and an occasional coffee out of it, what was the harm?

When Mr. Nash was gone, Lucille tore open the envelope she had intercepted and read the letter with delight. He wanted to meet with Mr. Barrow. In a move that was predictable, he had set the time and the place. Lucille considered this challenge for a moment and then decided it was worth the risk. It wouldn't be too hard to convince him to come back to Grantham House, and then- _What was good for a goose is as good for a gander_, Lucille considered.

Lucille had also been pleased to note that there was no letter for Mr. Carson from Downton.

-00-

"I am sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Bryant. Mr. Barrow has thought better of communicating with you. He does not want to see you."

Anna's description of Mr. Bryant had been spot on, he was a blustery, bossy bully with very little grace and absolutely no time for his inferiors.

"But he must see me. I demand that he does. He cannot just threaten to expose my grandchild's origins to the world for his own amusement and then refuse to see me."

"I don't think he is planning to expose anyone but the Crawley family. He has decided not to use any names." Mrs. Butte informed him sensibly. "It will be enough that he can say an illegitimate child was conceived under the negligent watch of Mrs. Hughes and the butler."

"Any self-respecting paper will demand corroboration. And the lesser papers will demand a name." Mr. Bryant countered. "I must make sure that Mr. Barrow understands that I can either make life very comfortable for him or very uncomfortable."

"I believe he does understand that, Mr. Bryant, but, if I may be honest, you are the least of his worries."

"I must meet him today!"

"He is far too busy at Grantham House to meet you anywhere." She baited the trap.

"Then I shall come to the house and speak to him directly."

"How will you do that without risking exposure? It will be considered odd if you arrive at the front door and demand to speak to the under butler." Mr. Bryant's face grew red at this reminder of the obvious. Then he fixed Lucille with a terrible glare.

"_You_ can sneak me in the servant's entrance and then bring him down to see me. I shall make it worth your while." SNAP! The trap was so effective, the prey had no idea.

Lucille pretended to struggle with her decision. In reality, she was struggling to keep from laughing at this man who was all but begging her to be killed. "Who am I to refuse a reasonable request?" She demurred.

When they arrived at Grantham House, Mr. Bryant cooperated perfectly. He snuck into the laundry room and waited patiently with his cup of tea. By the time Mrs. Butte returned to inform him that Mr. Barrow was still busy, the arsenic had done its work. Lucille took the cash from Mr. Bryant's wallet and then hoisted Mr. Bryant into the cauldron of hot lye. She left him to stew in his own juices until bedtime. This time, instead of grinding the bones, Mrs. Butte simply broke them into pieces and threw them into the boiler. Concealment was less important now. It was time to turn up the heat on Thomas. She had ensured that any evidence found would not lead back to her, but would only incriminate Thomas further.

-00-

Thomas' personal appearance would not inspire one to believe his innocence. He had slept very little in the past week. He spent his evenings pacing his room and pulling at his hair. Mr. Carson had scolded him numerous times concerning his appearance.

Thomas' mind raced to think who might be behind these strange occurrences. Edna's baby being abandoned had frightened him more than he could say. She had written to him and he to her. As a precaution, the day after the baby appeared, Thomas had burned his letters from her, but he had no control over what she had done with his letters to her. Thomas knew that she was not planning to simply abandon the child. He knew she still had her sights on Mr. Branson. Was this some game of hers; let Branson bond with the child and then come back to claim it? It wasn't a bad plan, but it seemed too patient for Edna. She was not one for waiting.

Thomas suspected foul play. With all these occurrences adding up, Thomas suspected there was a murderer in the house. He could think of only two people in the household capable of murder. Of those two people, Mr. Bates seemed the most likely to hold a grudge against Thomas. Thomas knew he could not convince Lord Grantham of Mr. Bates' guilt without proof. He would have to be careful.

His thoughts were interrupted by the deep voice of Mr. Carson. "Mr. Barrow, there is a constable here to speak with you."

"With me?" Thomas asked in terror.

"I am afraid so. He said you should bring your hat and coat."

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ I love the idea of Jim Carter's significant other's character offing Phyllis Logan's significant other's character. And I hated Mr. Bryant, so…bye-bye, Mr. Bryant.**


	8. Jimmy Surfaces

"Yes. That's him." Thomas choked out, fighting down the urge to vomit.

"I'm afraid we'll need you to state his full name, Mr. Barrow." Constable Norris reminded him, gently.

"This is the body of James Montgomery Kent." Thomas lost his battle with his stomach, emptying its contents into a pail in the corner of the river morgue. Jimmy's beautiful face was barely recognizable after spending so long in the river. _How had this happened? What was going on? _Thomas trembled as he wiped his mouth coarsely on the back of his sleeve, also seeking to surreptitiously wipe the tears from his eyes. He closed his eyes to try to blot out the memory of the sight, but that only seemed to burn the image more permanently into his mind. The mark on Jimmy's neck had not escaped Thomas' notice. This was not a question of a man who had slipped from a bridge or was caught unawares by the Thames tide. This was murder. Tears spilled from Thomas' shut eyes. If his greed and machinations had brought this upon Jimmy, how could he ever forgive himself?

Detective Vance watched all of this with interest. All they had at the moment was circumstantial evidence, and it all pointed unerringly to the Underbutler of Grantham House. But, to the detective's mind, Thomas' reactions were not those of a killer.

"When you are recovered, we will have a few more questions for you, Mr. Barrow." Vance said calmly.

Thomas nodded and tried to compose himself. The dark eyed detective left the morgue while the constable waited for Thomas. Finally, needing desperately to escape the smell of the room, Thomas stumbled to the stairs that led up to the fresh air of the land of the living.

They offered him a mug of weak, tepid tea. "I know this is difficult, Mr. Barrow, but there are some things you have neglected to tell us."

Thomas nodded stupidly. His only hope of salvation was to be completely honest with the authorities. Whoever was perpetrating these crimes was much more ruthless than Thomas was prepared to be. They also had the advantage of him because he had no idea who they might be. His earlier suspicions of Mr. Bates disappeared. This was beyond anything Mr. Bates could have done. It seemed beyond his other suspect as well, but then, he didn't really suspect her so much as her family.

"When did you last see Mr. Kent?"

"The day he returned to Downton. That would be two Tuesday's ago."

The detective made a notation on his notepad.

"But you've been writing to him." It was not a question. Thomas did not reply. "When did you last hear from him?"

"On the day that he died, I received a telegram asking me to meet him at the National Gallery at two thirty."

"And did he show up?"

"Obviously not!" Thomas gestured back towards the morgue.

"There is nothing obvious about this situation, Mr. Barrow. Do you still have that telegram?"

"No."

"And you did not mention this to us when we asked about Mr. Kent before. Did it slip your mind?"

"No, but I did not realize he was in danger. I would have cooperated fully if I'd realized how serious this was."

"We'll never know, will we, Mr. Barrow?" He let Thomas squirm before sliding a worn piece of stationary across the table for Thomas to consider. "What do you make of this?" The ink had run, but not beyond the point of legibility.

Thomas stared in terror at the note. The writing looked to be in his hand, but he had never written those words. He looked up at the detective in a panic. "I never wrote that! It isn't from me!"

"We are going to need a sample of your writing, Mr. Barrow." Vance said cooly, offering a pen and paper. At this very moment, his team was combing the area around the Pelican Steps. He did not hold out much hope of them finding anything. His only clue was this letter.

"It looks like my handwriting." Thomas admitted. He quickly rewrote the note. Though his hand was still shaking from all the emotions currently assaulting him, the similarities were unmistakable even to an untrained eye. "But I did not write that. Someone is trying to frame me. I will cooperate in whatever way I can. I want to find Jimmy's killer. I would never have hurt him."

"Because you have feelings for him?" The constable asked. "We know about the complaint in Yorkshire. We've spoken to the authorities there and it was mentioned by several of the staff at Grantham House."

"Yes, I do have feelings for him. Or at least- I did." Thomas' voice broke with pain. "So you see, I could not have hurt him."

Detective Vance gave a sad smile. "If only that were true, Mr. Barrow. I've found that people are more than capable of hurting those they care for."

"But you must believe me, I did not do this." He pled desperately.

"I want to believe you, Mr. Barrow, I truly do, but you are going to have to help me understand. You must be one hundred percent honest with me. If I find that you have lied to me about anything, I will consider that an admission of guilt. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Constable Norris saw the desperation in their suspect. Despite the evidence they had, Norris had to agree with the detective's instinct that there was much more going on here than unrequited love.

"He was seeing this Ivy girl?" Vance asked matter of factly.

"He had been. But he grew frustrated. She was not as forthcoming with her favors as he had hoped. She was about to move to America. He had given up on her."

"Was he seeing anyone else?"

"Not that I know of. I believe he still writes to Lady Anstruther, his former employer."

"Did he have a relationship with Lady Anstruther?"

"I don't know. He used to hint that she was very fond of him, but he never admitted anything more to me."

"You know that this looks very badly for you, Mr. Barrow."

"Yes, I can see that." Thomas whispered.

"Is there anything else you can tell us? You seem to think someone is trying to frame you. Can you elaborate?"

"It's rather a long story." Thomas said tentatively.

"We have time." The constable smiled encouragingly. "And so do you."

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ Just a short one today. The net is tightening, but there is a little more groundwork to lay before the big confrontation…the deaths are not done...  
**


	9. The Pressure Builds

Dinner upstairs was a tense affair. Lord Grantham spoke very little, lost in his own thoughts. He had not shared the particulars of his conversation with the detective with the rest of the family, only the broad strokes, informing them that James was dead and foul play was suspected. Robert was still trying to ascertain the ominous motives behind their questions.

The detective had wanted to know, did anyone in the household have a history of forgery? Robert had lied and said no. Whatever this business was, he trusted that Bates was not involved. But would his lying make things worse for Bates down the road? Only Rose and Mary knew about the forgery and perhaps they both believed the story of 'a friend' Bates had offered. Robert knew better, but had allowed Bates the lie to protect his dignity.

But even with that, the detective seemed interested Bates. He had delved into the details around Bates' exoneration. The implication seemed to be that Bates had escaped on a technicality. Then there was the business with Mr. Green, whom Lord Grantham could not even remember. He could hardly believe the things the detective had told him. Anna, raped? During the house party? Could it be true, or was it just Thomas' desperate attempt to save his own skin? He would need to talk to Carson later.

They had also asked specifically about Miss Baxter. What should he tell Cora? If Baxter was involved, was it safe to allow her to be alone with his wife? There were two people dead now. Whoever was behind it was not to be taken lightly. But surely these crimes were not perpetrated by a woman, especially one as meek as Miss Baxter.

The detective had at first refused to directly answer any questions about Barrow. When would he be released? Were they charging him with anything? Could he send a lawyer to assist? Lord Grantham had finally ascertained that Barrow had not been arrested and a lawyer was not necessary, for the moment.

The rest of the family had respected Lord Grantham's disinclination for conversation during dinner. Instead, they had occupied themselves by trying to form a link between James and Sir Richard. They struggled to remember everything about James that had seemed sinister. By pudding they were convinced he had been done in by a jealous husband.

-00-

Mr. Carson stood at the head of the table, looking gravely at the staff. He had told both Mrs. Butte and Mrs. Patmore the news already, hoping they could help comfort the younger maids. Mr. Molesley had been informed as he served, but had agreed to keep quiet until a formal announcement was made.

"His Lordship has informed me that James has been found." Mr. Carson held up his hand to still the excitement before the information could be misunderstood. "I am very sorry to tell you that he was found _dead._ I have no more information at this time."

"Any word of Mr. Barrow?" Miss Baxter asked nervously.

"None yet, I am afraid." Mr. Carson admitted as he sat down. "They are still questioning him, but I gather he has not been arrested."

It hurt Mr. Carson to see how this lack of information disturbed everyone. He was frustrated that there was no way he could calm the unease that had settled over his staff. They were all equally powerless.

After servant's dinner, Baxter went upstairs to prepare Lady Grantham for bed. She was bewildered to find that Lady Mary was present as well. Both women insisted that Mary was just talking to her mother about her suitors, but their conversation was forced and they watched Baxter with interest as she moved about the room. Used to being ignored, especially by Lady Mary, Baxter knew there was something wrong.

Thomas had been gone the whole afternoon. It was reasonable to think he had been talking to the police the whole time. It was also reasonable to assume he had given up her secret in an attempt to appease the police and exonerate himself. Did the family know then? Baxter felt like one of those characters in a play that everyone knew was doomed; everyone but the character, that is.

"Will that be all, milady?"

"Yes, thank you, Baxter. I think I shall breakfast downstairs tomorrow morning."

"Very good, milady."

-00-

"Good morning, Mr. Nash."

"Good morning, Mrs. Butte. You are looking very nice this morning."

"It is kind of you to say so, Mr. Nash." She smiled coquettishly. "I've some coffee for you, if you can spare a moment."

"I can only stop for a moment, but coffee would be very welcome, thank you." Mr. Nash had decided that it was rather nice to have a woman fuss over him. He smiled gratefully to Mrs. Butte as he sipped his morning coffee as he had for the past week.

Their friendly moment was disturbed by Mr. Molesley rushing out of the backdoor. "Did she come out this way?" He asked in a panicked voice. "Did you see her?"

"Did who come out this way? Whom are we meant to have seen?" Mrs. Butte demanded.

"Miss Baxter, she's gone!" Molesley cried, waving a sheet of paper at them and then dashing up to the street level. He rushed off down the street calling for her. "Phyllis!"

TBC...

* * *

**AN/ We lost another one, but at least she left of her own free will. It's probably safer that way. We'll find out her secret in the next chapter!**


	10. Phyllis

Mr. Molesley sat before Mr. Carson, Mrs. Butte and Mrs. Patmore in the butler's pantry. Mrs. Patmore had given him a very strong tea with whiskey and his nerves seemed to be recovering.

"You saw her letter, Mr. Carson. She didn't do this, she's just afraid. We have to find her.

"She explicitly asked us not to try and find her, Mr. Molesley."

"But she might be in danger." The poor man moaned.

"I am afraid she probably is, but we don't even know where to start. Maybe Mr. Barrow can help us if he is released, but even then, I am not sure what we can do for her."

"We have to let her know that we will protect her!"

"Of course we will, Mr. Molesley." Mrs. Patmore insisted. "Won't we, Mr. Carson?"

"In so far as we can, but I doubt that will comfort her much." Carson said sadly. "Mrs. Butte? You have been very quiet. Have you nothing to add."

Lucille was only vaguely aware of the simpering footman before her and even less aware of Mr. Carson and Mrs. Patmore. She still held Miss Baxter's letter to Mr. Molesley in her hand. With glassy eyes, she read it again.

_'Joseph, _

_I have feared this day ever since I arrived at Downton. At first, I did not want to leave because I needed the employment, but now that my past has caught up to me yet again, I find my greatest regret is losing your friendship. It took me so long to stand up to Thomas, to realize that if he revealed my secret, he would implicate himself as well. You gave me that strength Joseph and I shall never forget you for that. How could I have imagined the terrible events that would drive him to reveal me? But even if he has not betrayed my secret, I must leave. I fear that it is my presence that has brought about the recent violence that has visited Grantham House._

_I hardly know where to begin, but I should start with my main deception. My name is not Phyllis Baxter. My name is Phyllis Fletcher but I was born Phyllis Hoxton. My father and uncles are the heads of the Hoxton mob of Soho. I was forced to marry when I was very young. My husband was in the gang and is currently twelve years into a forty-three year sentence for his role in the violent robbery of a rival gang's gambling parlor. Innocent people were caught in the crossfire._

_Even before my husband's crime and arrest, I had left him and my family. I lived as a domestic servant, using my mother's maiden name. I worked briefly with Thomas, but it did not take him long to uncover my secret. My husband's trial was in the papers and I could not help but follow it closely. Thomas was suspicious and eventually found me out. He threatened to tell my family where I was, but I convinced him not to. I forged a letter of recommendation that helped him secure his new position at Downton. _

_We have not kept in close correspondence since then, but Thomas followed my career and always seemed to know where I was. When he contacted me not quite two years ago, he knew I was between jobs. I knew it was not wise to work so closely with someone who knew my secret, but I was desperate for work._

_I have remained hidden from my family for almost fourteen years, I had begun to hope that they would never find me, but obviously they have. They are ruthless and they are capable of unspeakable atrocities. I will not bring that to Lady Grantham's doorstep. I hope when I am gone from the house, you will all be safe again. Please, do not try to find me. It is better this way._

_I am so sorry, Joseph. Please forgive me. I know I led you on, but I truly enjoyed spending time with you. Your gentle spirit and kindness were so different from anything in my experience. You and you alone have renewed my faith in humanity. I wish you all the joy in the world, you deserve it. Never forget that._

_Though I have no right to claim it, I am and forever shall be your remorseful friend,_

_Phyllis.'_

Lucille fought to control her temper. With one name, her whole world had begun to fracture; Hoxton. Miss Baxter was a Hoxton. The opportunity to revenge herself on the family responsible for her father's death had slipped through her fingers. Her mind raced, thinking of all the terrible ways she could have disposed of Phyllis Hoxton.

"Mrs. Butte?" Carson asked again. "Are you quite well?"

Pulling herself together, she nodded and handed the letter back to Mr. Carson. "It's just such a shock. She is such a sweet woman, to think she came from such a violent family."

"Do you know anything about this Hoxton mob?" Carson asked her.

Lucille shrugged. "They used to be in the paper more often, but they are still around. They are just smarter about getting caught now."

"Are they as ruthless as Miss Baxter said?"

"I believe they are, Mr. Carson."

"Mr. Molesely," Carson began kindly. "I think we are best off letting the police handle this. We will tell them everything that we know and hope that they can be discreet."

"But she's out there; afraid and alone." Joseph sobbed miserably.

"But if we cannot find her, then neither can they." Beryl offered. "That's something at least."

"I shall give your letter to the authorities, Mr. Molesley. You should take the rest of the day off. You are in no fit state to serve." Carson said sensibly. "If you get it in your head to go looking for her, please do not go alone," he added.

Molesley nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Mr. Carson."

Carson left them swiftly. His Lordship must be informed and the authorities contacted. As soon as he was gone, the women began to fuss over Molesley.

"I'm fine." Joseph insisted. He needed to find her, but he had no idea of where to begin. He wracked his brain, trying to remember anything she had said about London in their long hours of conversation. He knew that she had lived in London before moving to Yorkshire. Or so she had told him. Maybe everything had been a lie. For now, it did not matter. She was in danger, he must help her.

"I have to go." He took the last swig of his whiskey tea and stood to leave.

"You heard Mr. Carson." Mrs. Patmore panicked, "You should not go alone."

"I shall go with you, Mr. Molesley."

"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Butte. Thank you."

-00-

"Not another one." Robert groaned. "My dear, this is getting to be ridiculous."

"Robert! I think you have missed the main point here. For the past eighteen months, I have been at the mercy of a daughter of a notorious crime family!"

Mary patted her mother's hand tenderly and exchanged a knowing look with her father.

"Yes, yes, I do know that and I am relieved that you are unharmed, my dear, but I doubt you were in any real danger. You cannot think she had anything to do with these deaths. She was afraid of her own shadow. She seems to have fled because she thinks someone is coming after her or because she knew her secret would soon be discovered."

"And Barrow knew all along!" Cora fumed. "Robert, he simply must go!"

"Oh, without question, but we have to keep him here as long as the police need to keep tabs on him."

"Is that safe?" Mary asked.

"After speaking to the detectives, I'd be more easily convinced of Baxter's guilt than Barrow's."

"It cannot be Baxter. She could not hurt a fly." Mary said dismissively.

"That's what I think." Her father agreed.

"Then is it her family, Robert? If so, where do we find them and how can we stop them?"

"I wish I knew, my dear."

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ So there's _one_ of my theories for Miss Baxter's big secret. Another one will be surfacing in my other 'wading' fic in the next few days. In this fic, do we want Mr. Molesley to find Miss Baxter or not?**

**Thank you to those of you following this offshoot. It has not been as bloody as I anticipated (Lucille was just too efficient) but things could change very soon.**


	11. Elsie Returns

"Isn't Mr. Molesley with you, Mrs. Butte?" Mrs. Patmore asked, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she immerged from the kitchen. Luncheon had just been taken upstairs.

"He said he needed some time alone to think. We walked to the river, just in case she tried to take the easy way out."

"I don't know as I'd call that easy." Beryl wrinkled her nose at the idea. "But he shouldn't be alone. Not in his state of mind and not with those mob thugs out there! Lady Mary told Anna poor Jimmy had been garroted and dumped in the Thames. That seems low, even for their sort."

Mrs. Butte bristled to hear her handy work so disparaged, but she could hardly defend it now. "You're right, Mrs. Patmore, but I didn't leave him alone. I left him at the local and asked the barkeep to look after him and send him home when he'd had enough. When I left him, he was nursing a hard cider."

_That sounded like Mr. Molesley alright,_ Beryl thought. "Poor man, he really just cannot catch a break. Just when things were looking up for him, he finds out that the woman he fancies is married to a thug who is rotting away in prison and her family may be systematically killing people associated with her."

"Yes. Poor man." Lucille found it hard to find any sympathy for Mr. Molesley. She had spent a frustrating morning trying to get him to remember a name or a landmark that Miss Baxter might have mentioned. But he could not think of a one. He had spent the whole morning alternately moping and grousing. At one point, as they were checking the river, Mrs. Butte had been tempted to give him a little shove as he leaned out over the water for a better view. It would have been efficient and effective, but there was still the possibility that Mr. Molesley might be useful. And Lucille would be the last person to speak to Mr. Molesley, which would put her on the suspect list, which was absolutely unacceptable.

Lucille could not afford to be distracted by a brokenhearted footman. She had to refocus and finish off Thomas quickly so she could turn her attention to Miss 'Baxter'. Helping Mr. Carson was still important, but revenging her father was suddenly much more important. Fate had brought Miss Baxter into Lucille's sphere for a reason. Lucille now believed that, though sometimes slow and difficult to see, justice would always come to those who are patient and are willing to prove themselves worthy.

Now was the time to wrap up Mr. Barrow's fate good a tight. Lucille knew it was possible that Thomas would be released from the authorities soon. She knew they did not have enough evidence against him yet. All the evidence they needed was hidden ineffectively in a dusty attic room of Grantham house, if they only bothered to look.

"Was there something else I can help you with?" Mrs. Patmore looked at the housekeeper warily.

"No. I am sorry, Mrs. Patmore, I was just woolgathering. There is so much happening around here, but we must still run a household, mustn't we?"

"Too true. Let those upstairs do the worrying. We're too busy down here." With that, Beryl retreated back into her kitchen to start on the tea sandwiches.

-00-

"What the devil are you doing here?" Charles was as agitated as Elsie had ever seen him. He paced furiously around his pantry, apoplectic with rage. Elsie was disappointed with her reception, to say the least.

"Her Ladyship needs a maid. They sent word first thing this morning and requested that I come back with Mr. Branson. I am to fill the position until a replacement can be found."

"And who is going to come into a household where servants are disappearing?" Charles bellowed. "It is not safe here. I should have expected you to realize that, Elsie. You should have stayed at Downton. You should have said no."

"I wanted to be with my husband, who I thought would be glad to see me." She put her hands determinately on her hips.

Charles grabbed her firmly, almost violently, by the arms. "People are dead, Elsie! Dead! Murdered! I want you as far away from this as possible." He looked desperately into her face. Finally, she saw that he was not angry with her; he was afraid for her. She reached up to touch his face.

"And I want you far away from it too, but you are here doing your job and so am I. Besides, I would rather be here with you than sitting, powerless in Yorkshire."

Charles had to accept that she had a point. He pulled her into his arms and almost crushed her with his protective embrace. "Of course I am glad to see you. I have missed you, but I don't know what I would do if something were to happen to you. I've already proven that I am not capable of protecting the people under my care."

"If this is about Anna, you were not the only one who was deceived."

"That is very little comfort, but it is not only Anna. Now, there is Ivy and James and Miss Baxter."

"It is a terrible business, but I don't see how we could have prevented any of that. We still are not sure exactly what has happened." She forced him to loosen his grip on her as she pushed back from him slightly. She kissed the down turned corner of his mouth, trying to dispel the worry on her man's face. "Now, you must go ring the changing gong and I must see to Her Ladyship. We will talk more tonight."

-00-

"Carson," His Lordship tried to sound nonchalant as he sipped his brandy with Mr. Branson after dinner. "The authorities have released Thomas and will be bringing him home tonight."

"Is he still a suspect, My Lord?"

"They would not say, but I don't think they'd send him back to us if it were unsafe." Lord Grantham said dismissively.

"And do we trust their opinion on the matter?" Carson raised his eyebrows to show that he, in fact, did not.

"I hardly know what to think. Tom, what is your opinion on the matter?"

Tom was only barely following their conversation. He was preoccupied with wondering if Edna's abandoning the his son had anything to do with the recent happenings around Grantham House. It seemed unlikely, but the timing was very suspicious. He only just realized that he had been asked a question. "Huh? Oh, yes, I would say even if he is the culprit, he'd be a fool to try anything with the police watching so closely."

"I do not find that a very comforting thought." Robert admitted. "But, it is best to keep him where we can watch him, I suppose."

"Very good, My Lord." Carson growled, not at all happy with allowing Mr. Barrow back into the house. "But when he is not on duty, I shall lock him in his room. If that is acceptable to you, My Lord?"

"Yes, I think that might be for the best." Robert agreed.

"He might even thank you for it." Tom observed wryly.

-00-

"I completely understand, Mr. Carson. I hope to make you believe I had nothing to do with these deaths, but I know it does not look favorable for me at the moment."

"That is putting it mildly, Mr. Barrow." Carson glowered at Thomas. "I have given you a bell to ring if you need anything. It is for emergencies only. I am sure that I do not have to tell you to use it judiciously."

"Of course, Mr. Carson. Thank you." The odd thing was, he meant it.

Hearing the key turn in the lock of his door was the most beautiful sound Thomas had heard in weeks. At least two people in the world knew that Thomas was innocent. Now, one of them was locked safely in this room and one was locked safely out. He threw himself, fully clothed on the bed and relaxed fully for the first time since Jimmy had gone missing. Within moments, he was fast asleep, the stress and exhaustion finally overwhelming him. He slept the sleep of the beleaguered innocent.

TBC...

* * *

**AN/ So Molesley did survive his little walk with Lucille, but just barely. There are lots of little pieces moving about the chess board just now. But who will survive and who will be caught in the trap? And Elsie is back! Yea?  
**


	12. A Secret Overheard

Elsie rolled her eyes as she left Lady Grantham that evening. Charles was standing outside the room, waiting for her, just where she had left him.

"Charles, there is no need for you to escort me everywhere."

"Until they have made an arrest in this matter, I do."

"And do you intend to follow me around the house all day tomorrow like a body guard?"

"If need be." He said stubbornly. His protective stance had been endearing at first, but it was beginning to grow annoying. "Thomas is back in the house and Miss Baxter is still on the loose." Charles reminded her.

"But Thomas is locked in his room. And you saw him at dinner; the man is more frightened than you are."

"I am not frightened. I am concerned. I've already failed to protect Anna and James. I will not fail to protect my own wife."

Elsie could hardly argue with that sentiment. "About that, Charles, I think we need to tell His Lordship that we are married. We shall have to tell the police if they start asking more questions about where we were when Ivy disappeared. It will not look good if Lord Grantham has been kept in the dark. He still thinks you were at the clinic and that I was visiting my sister."

"You did visit your sister."

"Yes, but just long enough to arrange our wedding. Then you and I were off to Blackpool. If Lady Mary hadn't known where we were and warned us that Lord Grantham was going to recall you from the clinic, we would have been caught."

"But we weren't caught." Charles pointed out. "His Lordship has too much else to worry about right now."

"So his two heads of household marrying won't seem such a big deal." There was the silver lining she had been looking for.

"I do not think he will see it that way."

"However he might see it, he shall need to see it _soon_."

"We agreed we'd tell him before I returned to Downton. I think we should at least wait until the business with Barrow is resolved. There is no reason that our marriage should have any bearing on the detective's investigation."

"Are you sure? Haven't you noticed? All of these disappearances and deaths have helped us."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Thomas is currently too preoccupied to go to the papers. And even if he did, they wouldn't listen to a word he says so long as he is under suspicion."

"You can't be suggesting that is anything more than a coincidence." Charles was aghast.

"I hardly know what I am suggesting. If it is by design, there are only so many people it might be." They both knew who she suspected.

"I will not entertain the notion that any one we trust could have done these things."

"Mr. Bates has been a different man since learning about Anna's attack. Prison changed him, maybe not a lot, but it did change him."

"It did not change him into a man capable of choking James to death and dumping the boy in the river. I will not believe it. And, if you do believe it, as I've said, we should not allow Anna to remain with him." Charles stated emphatically. "I truly believe it is not Mr. Bates."

"You believe it must be Miss Baxter's family?"

"It makes sense. Whoever killed Sir Richard walked into a public building at lunchtime and murdered a very powerful man in his own office. That is the act of a professional killer. The benefits to us are purely coincidental. I am sure of it."

They had reached the point on the stairs where they must part ways, but Charles made as though he was going to follow her up.

"Mr. Carson, I think you are forgetting yourself. You can't think you are coming up to the women's hall."

"I did think I might be able to spend the night protecting my wife." He waggled his eyebrows to make sure she understood his double meaning.

"As much as I would love for you to 'protect' me, I don't think that would be wise."

"I promise I shall be very quiet, Mrs. Carson." Charles took advantage of the dark and empty stairs to kiss his wife while massaging her firm behind.

"Mmm. We both know that is a promise which you cannot keep." Elsie pushed him away, though her eyes looked at him longingly. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Before he could pull her back to him, she escaped lightly up the stairs, blowing him a kiss. Grunting disconsolately to himself, Charles headed to the men's hall and his own, empty room.

Lucille stood in the dark one flight below where the lovers had parted. _Not lovers,_ she corrected herself. _Husband and wife!_ She had heard them pass by her in her darkened office and followed them, catching the tail end of their conversation. Mr. Bates was another possible scapegoat, she noted. Just in case something goes wrong with framing Thomas.

But she could not focus on this new option. She was distracted by the news of their marriage. She knew Charles fancied the sashaying Scot, but had never thought it was more than a physical attraction. Mrs. Hughes might scratch an itch, but Lucille was the salve. If only he could see that, but he had been trapped and he had turned his back on Lucille before she could declare her love.

And after all she had done for Charles! But he didn't know what she had done and if he did, he would not thank her for it. He would probably testify against her as she stood in the dock. She had killed for him, but he would see her hang and feel no remorse.

Lucille forced herself to calm down. A pain in her hand made her look down. Without knowing it, she had gripped her keys so tight that she had drawn blood. _That broken heart will wait_, she told herself. She needed to tie up loose ends with Thomas and focus on finding that Hoxton woman.

TBC...

* * *

**AN/ I hope the chapters will come more quickly, but they will be shorter. I hope that adds to the suspense!**

**I really appreciate the 15 of you who are actually reading this story;) I'm having some fun with it and it's nice to have company.**


	13. Under House Arrest

"Mr. Barrow, you are to be accompanied at all times by either Mr. Bates or Mr. Molesley." Mr. Carson had unlocked Thomas' bedroom door and was towering over Thomas, flanked by Mr. Bates and Mr. Molesley. Mr. Molesley did not look as terrified at this arrangement as Thomas would have expected. In fact, the footman was glaring at Thomas in a most disconcerting way.

It was midmorning before Thomas found himself alone with Molesley. Thomas had begged for the right to smoke and was granted a few minutes in the sunken courtyard out the backdoor. After enduring the wiry man's death stare for half a cigarette, Thomas could stand it no longer. "Is there something you'd like to say, Mr. Molesley?"

"You knew." Molesley accused him in a voice that would have sounded dangerous coming from anyone else.

"I knew what?" Thomas honestly had no idea to what Molesley was referring.

"You knew about Phyllis' past. That's what you were holding over her."

"Oh, that. What of it?" Thomas inhaled slowly.

"Now, she's in danger and you couldn't care less." The lithe man's hands had balled into tight little fists, but Thomas did not notice.

"You're wrong, Mr. Molesley, I am very concerned about Miss Baxter. It's only that I am more concerned about myself." Thomas could hardly say why he felt the impulse to needle Mr. Molesley. Perhaps it was because his own fear was almost crippling him and he desperately needed a distraction. Toying with Molesley seemed like just the thing. "Besides, I am not the one who has any right to worry about Miss Baxter. I think that right belongs to her husband."

"You are a despicable person, Mr. Barrow. I've seen enough bad things happen to good people that I imagine there must be a special fate awaiting the likes of you."

"You keep telling yourself that, if you must," Thomas drawled slowly, "but it won't bring her back."

Before Thomas knew what was happening, Molesley had flown at him in a flurry of flailing arms one could only assume were meant to be punches. Thomas was taken completely by surprise, and Mr. Molesley was able to land a few blows before Thomas threw up his own arms in self defense. Thomas was about to join the fray properly when a deep voice interrupted the escalating melee.

"That will be enough, Mr. Molesley." Mr. Carson spoke calmly from the doorway. "Go inside and straighten yourself up. I shall babysit Mr. Barrow for a while."

"The man is mad." Thomas gasped after Molesley had reentered Grantham House.

"Everyone is on edge. You'd be best served not to provoke them. Whether you are guilty of murder or not, you are not very well liked at the moment. Even for you."

"I am innocent, Mr. Carson."

"I am convinced you did not kill James or Sir Richard, but I would not call you innocent, Mr. Barrow."

"You've a stake in this, Mr. Carson. You want this all to just go away, don't you?"

"I want the killer to be brought to justice as expediently as possible."

"After meeting these cops, I wouldn't hold your breath."

"What have you told them?" Charles tried to sound uninterested in the answer, but they both knew otherwise.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Charles loomed over Thomas menacingly but spoke softly. "Yes. I _would_ like to know, and if you want any kind of life after this is resolved, you will tell me what I want to know."

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Carson? I am sure the authorities would be very interested in that." Thomas' false bravado did not fool Carson.

"What exactly have you told them, Thomas?"

"Everything. I told them everything." Thomas crumbled. "They told me if I left anything out and they found out about it, they'd arrest me."

Carson felt a pang of sympathy for the man. If he was truly innocent of the murders, what must he be experiencing right now?"Thomas. I have not had an opportunity to express my condolences."

"Condolences?" What was Mr. Carson playing at?

"I know you and James had an unusual friendship, but he was your closest friend in the house and I know you must feel the loss very keenly."

"I do, Mr. Carson. Thank you for recognizing that." Even Thomas was astonished that he had managed to be gracious.

"You should know that the police are coming back for another round of interviews today. The detective called His Lordship this morning." Carson informed him. "Now, let's get back to work. I know that keeping busy always helps me take my mind off my troubles."

-00-

"My Lord, might I have a word with you?"

"Can it not wait, Carson? The police will be here again soon and I'd like to have my correspondence finished before they arrive in case they require my presence."

"I fear it is something that must be discussed before the police arrive. There is something I need to tell you."

"Then say what you must, but be brief."

"I did not report to the clinic as you instructed. Lady Mary cancelled my evaluation for me. I returned to Downton to collect Mrs. Hughes. She and I visited her sister in St. Anne's and were married a few days later. We were honeymooning in Blackpool when Lady Mary contacted us and recalled me to London."

Robert struggled to understand. "If this is a joke, Carson, it is in very poor taste. Mrs. Hughes is a respectable woman and using her name in such a ruse is ungentlemanly."

"This is no joke, but Mrs. Carson is indeed a respectable woman." Carson answered. "We wanted you to know because we may both have to account for our whereabouts to the police. Neither of us will lie and we did not want to put you in a position of inadvertently speaking untruth to the police."

"I don't know if your timing is atrocious or genius. We could never stand to lose both of you, but now more than ever; things are so topsy-turvy. Do the staff know?"

"Only Mr. and Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Patmore. Lady Mary knows of our marriage as well."

"Why does that not surprise me? I think we should keep it that way for now."

"Whatever you think best, My Lord."

"Honestly, Carson, if you really valued my opinion, you'd have told me _before_ you married." Robert sounded wounded.

"I apologize for not confiding in you, My Lord, but the truth is, it has all happened rather quickly."

"You have a strange notion of quickly, Carson." Carson and Mrs. Hughes had been dancing around this for decades. If Robert had a penny for every time he had to explain to his daughters that 'No, Carson and Mrs. Hughes are not married.', he wouldn't have to worry about estate taxes.

"As inconvenient as this is, I wish you both well." Robert decided it was late enough in the day for a whiskey. "We shall have to adjust things when we return to Downton, but for now, I cannot spare the time to deal with this. You may tell the police, of course, but no one else."

"Understood. Thank you for your time."

-00-

"Did you sleep well, Mr. Barrow?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you for letting me sleep in my own bed. Though they locked me in, it was more comfortable than a cell."

"I am glad they are being cautious with you, Mr. Barrow, for their sake as well as yours." Detective Vance commented. The constable handed him leather portfolio. "There's been a development since we last spoke."

"Oh?"

"Yes. We've been contacted by police from another jurisdiction; another missing person case. In a search of the person's home, the police found a collection of letters from you, inviting the person for a meeting here in London." Vance held up a small bundle of letters. "Would you care to venture a guess who this person might be?"

Thomas wracked his brain. To whom had he been writing? He had not invited anyone to a meeting. A search of a home? Someone that would be missed? It couldn't be Edna Braithwaite. The only other person who might have occasion to meet with him was, "Mr. Bryant."

"You got it in one! You see, Norris, I told you he would cooperate." The detective looked smugly at his constable, as if he'd just proven a long contested point. "Want to tell us about it? You failed to mention Mr. Bryant in our earlier discussion."

"I haven't communicated with him for months. It honestly slipped my mind."

"Honestly? That's an interesting choice of word. Isn't it, Norris?"

"That it is, guv. Very interesting."

"Especially because I have the letters here, in my hand that say otherwise. You did see these letters in my hand, did you not, Mr. Barrow?"

"I did, but I thought they were from before."

"Why would you write to Mr. Bryant?"

"I was trying to find people willing to corroborate my information about the scandalous way Downton has been run under the present Earl and Mr. Carson. Newspapers were not going to buy my story unless I had more evidence than just my word."

"So you wrote to Mr. Bryant?"

"No. I wrote to Mrs. Bryant, but, apparently, he reads all of her letters before she does, the controlling ape."

"Now, now, let's not speak ill of the very likely dead."

"I only wrote to him a few times. His replies were angry, but he would not put anything in writing that I could use."

"How many letters would you say you wrote to him?"

"Four. Maybe five."

"I've got exactly five letters here, Mr. Barrow. The last of which was posted eight days ago from London. It intimates that you are about to go public with what you know and it is his last chance to cooperate. You say that his cooperation would ensure that his grandson's identity and the identity of said grandson's mother would remain unprinted. You ask him to come to London to meet, face to face."

"What!? I never wrote that. I stopped writing to him four months ago, I swear it."

"Yet another forgery, Mr. Barrow? This is written on the same stationary as the letters you admit to."

"All the staff have access to that stationary."

"Who would have known that you were writing to Mr. Bryant?"

"No one. I keep my letters locked..." A memory dawned.

"You keep them locked…?"

"Ivy. She stole my letters from Jimmy. I didn't notice if any other, older letters were missing."

"Can you look now?"

Thomas looked as though he was going to be sick. "I burned them. After Jimmy's disappearance."

"Along with the telegram?"

"Yes."

"You don't seem to be doing yourself any favors, Mr. Barrow."

"No."

"You would like us to believe that Miss Stuart, who is still missing, stole your letters and forged several other letters? Most of what I have heard of Miss Stuart makes this highly unlikely."

"Highly unlikely." Norris parroted.

"Mr. Bates!" Thomas almost screamed. "The only other person it could have been is Mr. Bates. He learned all sorts of things in jail, or so he is always bragging."

"Things like forgery? And stealing letters?"

"Yes. And murder."

"Yes. You told us about how he came all the way from Yorkshire to push a man into the street in broad daylight. That sounds just like the sort on thing one would learn in prison." The detective's sarcastic tone was not what Thomas wished to hear.

"What about Mrs. Baxter and her family?"

"What connection do they have with Mr. Bryant?"

"What connection did they have with Ivy or Jimmy or Sir Richard?"

"Good point. Right now, the only person with a connection to all three of them is you, Mr. Barrow. Though it is all still circumstantial, the evidence does seem to point solely to you."

"What can I do to prove my innocence?"

"For starters, I need you to write this letter again. Here are the words, written by Constable Norris. Here is the same stationary and…Norris, did you forget a pen for Mr. Barrow?"

"Sorry, guv." Norris looked around in apparent panic. "Here's one. I'm sure His Lordship won't mind."

Thomas looked at the pen oddly. He turned it over and saw the familiar scratch. "This is my pen."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's been missing for weeks, but this is definitely my pen. How did it get onto His Lordship's desk?"

"Are you suggesting that Lord Grantham stole your pen?"

"No, but someone must have found it and assumed it was his."

"It's a very fine pen." Vance noted.

"It was a gift." Thomas explained, not liking how the detective was eying him right now. "I would never spend so much money on something so frivolous."

"Well, I am glad you've been reunited. You really should be more careful with your belongings, Mr. Barrow."

Thomas was not listening to the detective. He was busy copying the letter, hoping to escape from the detective's withering gaze. "There." Thomas handed over the letter. Hopefully, with a longer letter, the forger had slipped up somewhere, though that would not exonerate him. "Is that all, detective?"

"That is all for today, Mr. Barrow. Thank you."

Vance did not even look at the letter Thomas had just written before slipping it into his leather porfolio. It would prove nothing. If your alibi was going to be forgery, you would make sure that you left a few uncharacteristic flourishes in your 'forged' note.

"Aren't we going to arrest him, guv? He identified the pen. Isn't that enough?" Norris was incredulous. "The boys found that pen at the Pelican Stair, right where Mr. Barrow was to meet Mr. Kent."

"I know that, Norris, but it still feels too easy. Mr. Carson assures me they are keeping him under supervision during the day and locked up at night. He isn't going anywhere." Vance gathered his things and gestured to Norris to do likewise. "We'll keep a close eye on him, but give him just enough rope to hang himself. If he did do it and we sweat him a little, we might be able to find Miss Stuart and Mr. Bryant's bodies. It would be nice to give their families some closure. "

"That Mr. Bryant sounds like a piece of work; reading his own wife's mail? It's despicable."

"You astonish me, Norris. We investigate the most heinous crimes this city has to offer and stolen mail is what disgusts you?"

"Maybe I'm just used to the other stuff."

"Ha! Maybe that's it, Norris."

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ Sorry for the slow updates, but the mother ship story is taking precedence. Never fear, though, Lucille will not be idle.**


	14. Between Breaths

It was almost evening before the house returned to even keel after the upset of the police interviews.

Charles and Elsie had stolen a moment away from the frayed nerves to talk in his office.

"His Lordship has given his blessing?"

"Not exactly." Charles allowed. "He wasn't best pleased that we told him after the fact, but he is too distracted by other things to bother about us right now."

"That does not sound very positive." Her brow knit in consternation.

"He said he could not stand to lose either of us and we won't discuss any changes until we return to Downton. If we can show in the next few weeks that our marriage does not affect how we perform our duties, it will go a long way towards convincing him we can both stay on and maintain our usual high standards."

"That's about the best we could have hoped for." Elsie observed. "How did your interview with the police go?"

"I can't think why they even bothered. They asked me almost no questions, but just wanted a writing sample. They weren't very well prepared though; they had to borrow a pen from His Lordship's desk."

"That's odd; it was the same with me and still did not have a pen, though my interview was after yours. Wouldn't they have already had the pen by then?"

"You would think so." Charles agreed.

"Did you notice anything funny about the pen?"

"I did notice that it was not His Lordship's preferred brand. I assumed it to be a gift that he keeps as a spare at Grantham House."

"That pen was Mr. Barrow's." Elsie told him. "I recognized it. He's had it for years. He bought it after his first London Season, flashed it about, showing off."

"You are certain it was his?"

"Absolutely certain. I remember it clearly. It was the year after he joined us, let's see, it must have been 1911."

"Why would it be on His Lordship's desk? For that matter, why would the police make such a fuss about it?"

"Maybe it's evidence. Maybe they found it in Sir Richard's office and no one recognized it."

"That would not prove anything. He has already admitted to being there. He was seen by Sir Richard's secretary."

"I don't know, then. It's just awfully strange. You don't think he actually killed James, do you?"

"He is either innocent, or he is the most gifted actor of our age."

"You should be a good judge of that." Elsie heard Her Ladyship's bell ring. She kissed Charles quickly and ran off to dress Lady Grantham for dinner.

-00-

"Is it true, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Is what true, milady?" Elsie hedged.

"About you and Mr. Carson?" Cora raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"Yes, milady. We are sorry that we did not seek your permission beforehand, but…"

"Oh, never mind that. His Lordship was miffed, I think, but I am so glad to know that Carson has finally made an honest woman out of you."

Elsie blushed. "You seem to have the wrong idea, milady. Our relationship has been purely professional until only a few short weeks ago."

"Oh, it has been professional. You both are consummate professionals, but it has not been _purely_ professional." Lady Cora insisted. "I notice each season how much his temper improves when we decide on our return date to Downton. He loathes being away for so long, and it isn't the house that he misses."

Elsie was gratified to hear that he missed her. "We both hope very much this will be the last Season we are parted."

"I'm sure arrangements can be made." Cora admired herself as Elsie styled her hair. "In fact, I have begun to question the wisdom in maintaining two housekeepers."

"To be fair, milady, you do have two _houses_."

"A caretaker could look after Grantham House when we are not here. The planning of Lady Rose's ball went so smoothly with you. Mrs. Butte never seems to grasp exactly what I want."

"Mrs. Butte is very competent, milady, and I understand she needs this job very much. I do not know if I could be comfortable displacing her."

"That is very kind of you, but it does seem the perfect solution. At any rate, we won't think any more of it until next Season. We must focus on getting through all this horrible Barrow business."

"Agreed, milady."

-00-

"You were very quiet at dinner, love." Charles noted, holding his wife in his lap in the butler's office. After the rest of the staff had gone up, she had snuck back down to meet with him.

"Her Ladyship offered us her congratulations."

"I should have anticipated His Lordship would tell her. If she tells Rosamund, our cover shall be blown."

"I think talking to me about it was enough." She lay her head gently on his chest and sighed pensively.

"Did she say something that troubled you?"

"She did. She was talking about bringing me to London next Season."

"Isn't that what we want?" Charles wondered. "I don't plan to come to London without you ever again."

"The problem is, it would mean making Mrs. Butte redundant."

"I hadn't considered that. That does seem terribly unfair to the poor woman." Charles admitted. "We would give her the very best recommendations. I am sure she could find another position."

"This one suits her so well. You said she had a mother and daughter to care for and a son who is a handful."

"Love, many of the families have already consolidated their country staff and their city staff. It is not fair to ask Lady Grantham to maintain two housekeepers if she does not wish it. I am sure they would let her stay on in the offseason as caretaker."

"Her pay would be much reduced. I am not comfortable with the notion of running her out."

"Which is one of the reasons that I love you so much." Charles hugged her closer. "Let us worry about Mrs. Butte another day. At this moment, I don't want to consider anything but my beautiful wife."

Elsie put aside her present concerns and lost herself in Charles' amorous embrace.

Lucille did not want to listen to their giggles and moans, so she removed the glass from the door. It was very late. The rest of the staff had gone to bed. The house stood empty and still, save for the happy couple in the next room. She quickly retreated from the sounds of their licentious activities. On the stairs, Lucille paused to listen to the night. The halls were now blissfully silent. She drank in their dark calm with deep breaths. A voice told her the time had come.

Thomas sat up as he heard the key turn in the lock.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ Sorry for the cliffhanger (no, I'm not). The next chapter will be along tomorrow.**


	15. Tying Up Loose Ends

The door opened and Mrs. Butte peeked her head into his room.

"What are you doing here?" Thomas demanded.

"Shh. Do you want to wake the whole house?" Mrs. Butte whispered.

"What are you doing here?" He whispered sharply.

"I am trying to do you a favor, but if you aren't interested." She began to close the door.

"Wait. What kind of favor?" He reached out towards her, beckoning her not to leave.

"I discovered something I think you should know about." Mrs. Butte stepped into his room and closed the door behind her.

"What did you discover and exactly how did you discover it?"

She ignored his first question. "For the past few weeks, I've been observing Miss Baxter's odd behavior."

"Odd?"

"You didn't notice her habit of sneaking off after luncheon?"

"I thought she was with Her Ladyship."

"I thought so too, until I saw her in the West attics one day."

"There's nothing in the West attics but the old nursery things and linens that are out of circulation."

"Which is why I was up there."

"What was she doing?"

"She went into one of the rooms at the end of the corridor. After a short time, she came out. I waited until she had left and then went into the room myself."

"What did you find?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. I looked around a bit, but I could not see anything to hint at what she had been doing."

"How exactly does this help me?"

"I started watching her more closely and I followed her to the same room several more times. It wasn't until the third time that I noticed something different." Thomas was leaning towards her, hungry for every word. Lucille felt exhilarated. "The curtains in the room were different."

"Different how?"

"A knot had been tied in one of them."

"So? What does that mean?"

"I have no idea, but it had not been there the day before and it was not there the next time I followed her, a few days later. It was the day before Edna abandoned her son on our back step."

"You don't think Edna was communicating with Miss Baxter, do you?"

"I couldn't say. How would they even know each other? I only remember the curtain and the day. That window is visible from the street; I checked."

"Is that all?" Thomas sounded disappointed.

"Since Miss Baxter ran off, I have been back to the room several times, searching for clues. Today, I was searching again, after the police left. During my interview, I had tried to convince them to search the house, top to bottom. I thought they might see something there that I had missed." Lucille continued her story.

"The heat was stifling today, so I opened the window. A raven flew in, which vexed me. I tried to shoo it back out the window, but it was stubborn. It found a little nook near the ceiling that I had never noticed. The raven hid in there. When he came out again, he had something in his beak. I flapped at him and finally succeeded in chasing him back out the window. He dropped what he was carrying."

Lucille handed Thomas a gold watch on a gold watch fob. Thomas turned the watch over, puzzled until he saw the engraving. _'To Horace, from your loving wife, Daphne.'_

"Oh, my God," Thomas whispered. He grabbed her shoulder. "Did you tell anyone? What else is in that nook?"

"No, I didn't tell anyone, and I am too short to reach into the nook. I suspect there might be evidence about the missing people. So far, all the evidence has pointed to you. I was afraid something up there might implicate you further, but I know these things were put there by Miss Baxter."

"You have to take me there! Show me where this nook is!"

"Calm down, Mr. Barrow. I won't be seen wandering the house with you in your nightclothes. Dress yourself and meet me in the West attic when you are ready."

-00-

Thomas was dressed and upstairs in less time than it took to cook a three minute egg, Lucille thought oddly. He carried an electric torch he had recently purchased for himself. He prided himself on being at the forefront of technology. Lucille wondered what he had against a simple candle.

His shirt was buttoned incorrectly and he had not bothered with a tie. _All the better._

"Which room is it?" He asked breathlessly, his eyes darting between the two or three doors that it could be. Lucille pointed to the middle door at the very end of the corridor. Thomas rushed heedlessly into the room.

He flashed the light around the ceiling looking for the nook she had described. There were too many options. "Where is it?"

Lucille strolled slowly into the room and considered carefully. "It looks so different in the dark." She commented in a tone that was maddening to Thomas.

"Where is it!?" Thomas almost yelled at her.

"Give me your torch."

"Here." He thrust it at her roughly. Mrs. Butte pointed the beam of light amongst the beams of wood.

"There." The spotlight rested on a dark hole less than a foot from the low ceiling. "I pulled that over, trying to reach in." She pointed to a low stool directly underneath the hole.

Thomas dashed to the stool and jumped up. Even with his height, he was barely able to reach the nook. "You hold the light steady. No, not in my face!"

Thomas' outstretched fingers felt paper. He managed to extract the folded slip of paper. Quickly opening it, he read Jimmy's last note, as it had been dictated to him by Lucille. _'Nothing ever happened between Ivy and me. Please don't hurt her. It was always you. Jimmy'_

"What the hell is this?" Thomas sputtered. He recognized the handwriting without the signature. How had Phyllis accomplished this? She wasn't capable of this level of deceit, Thomas was certain. She must be working with her family, but why?

Thomas shoved the letter quickly in his pocket. This would need to be destroyed immediately. The police would misconstrue Jimmy's meaning. But what _had_ he meant? With a great deal of effort, Thomas was able to extract something else from the niche. He held it before him, inquisitively turning it in his hands. Mrs. Butte shone the torch on the item, feigning curiosity. "What is it?"

"It's…an inkwell." Still standing on the stool, he turned it in the light, there was something odd about the ink inside. It was not dark India ink, it was dark, but it was thick and…it was red. With a pit growing in his stomach, Thomas flipped the lid of inkwell open. "Good God!"

One of Sir Richard's piercingly blue eyes stared up them both, held in congealed blood.

Thomas was staring, aghast. Lucille gasped in a show of shock. The light glared straight into Thomas's face, blinding him before it flickered out.

"Dammit! They told me those batteries would last at least thirty minutes!" Thomas cursed.

"I still have my candle, just give me a moment." She assured him.

Thomas tried to follow her figure in the dark, but all he could see was the blue remnant of the torch's direct light burned temporarily onto his retinas. He was afraid to step down from the stool with his vision so impaired, so Thomas waited impatiently where she had left him.

"Just a moment." He heard her say from somewhere behind him. The sound of his exasperated sigh almost covered the soft sound of the rope as it slipped over his head.

"What the..?" The tightening rope stopped any other sound from escaping his lips. He dropped the grotesque inkwell and clawed at the hemp at his neck as it lifted him onto the tips of his toes on the precariously unstable stool. Panic gripped him, rational thought deserted him. His hands reached up over his head, seeking to relieve the pressure on his throat by grabbing the rope above the knot he could feel at the back of his neck. The noose had ceased to tighten, but it was not loosening and he could raise himself no further without fear of falling off the stool altogether. He could not reach the beam over which the noose hung.

Time dilated. His senses were heightened by the rush of adrenaline his desperate body was releasing. He could see better now, he saw her walk back in front of him. Through the oppressive sound of his blood rushing in his ears, he heard her soft, almost gentle voice.

"Why, Thomas? Why did you make me do this? If you'd only been content to be under butler." She walked closer to him. His vision was beginning to blur now, his moment of clarity was gone. "But you convinced yourself that the world owed you more than it had already given you."

She made a clicking noise with her tongue. Tsk tsk. "Such an ambitious boy. You chose the wrong allies, Thomas. You made enemies where you should have made friends. You were surrounded by people who would have loved you if you gave them a chance."

He nodded, trying to show contrition, hoping she would relent, but he knew she would not. In that moment, he knew everything. It had all been her, the letters, the murders, everything. With his waning strength and consciousness, he pointed at her accusingly.

"Yes. It was me. Ivy, Jimmy, Sir Richard, Edna, Mr. Bryant and you. The police shall find you here tomorrow or perhaps later, having tragically taken your own life while visiting the trophies of your black deeds one last time."

His arms were spread wide, imploringly.

"I am afraid your fate is sealed, Thomas. I need a patsy and it was all too easy to set you up. It wouldn't have been this easy if it wasn't preordained. Accept your fate, Thomas, as we all must. I truly hope the next life treats you better than this one has, but perhaps you should try not being such a prick."

His flailing arms were moving more sluggishly now. She relit the torch and shone it in his face. Lucille observed his blue lips and his rolling eyes. It was time to be merciful.

The light was blinding him, so he never saw her approach. She kicked the stool out from under him. The yellow light of the torch changed, became whiter, purer. His last thought was, _Next time, I won't be such a prick. I promise. _

Lucille waited in the dark for ten minutes before she dared to approach the body. While she waited, she returned the narrow ladder to its place behind the chests of linens. It was the ladder left over from the bunk beds Mary and Edith had once shared during a disastrous trip to London when they were small girls. It had been a gamble for Lucille to leave it out, but she had hidden it behind a support post and Thomas had been in too much of a hurry to see it. It had been remarkably simple to slip the noose over his head and tighten it before he could respond. She took it as yet another indication that her actions were supported by a higher power.

Lucille walked back around to face Thomas' corpse. She observed him in the light of the torch. She searched his wrist for a pulse. Satisfied that he was indeed dead, she slipped the key to his bedroom that she had stolen from Mr. Carson's office into his pocket. She felt a peace in the closure of this chapter of her story. Charles' job was safe, even if he would not know to whom he owed his thanks, but she could not dwell on her victory. Not so long as Phyllis Hoxton-Fletcher walked the earth.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ No redemption for Thomas this time around. I gotta admit, it was kind of satisfying killing Thomas off. Mr. Fellowes should give it a try. **

**FYI, if this were a tv season, this would have been the penultimate episode. The next few chapters will be the season ender! How it ends depends on whether or not we've been renewed for a second season...Let me know if you want this to continue.**

**ETA/ I had to change the name on the watch because I mistook one character's name. FYI, Horace and Daphne are Mr. and Mrs. Bryant. I thought his name was Charles, but that was his son's name.**


	16. The Morning After

"Mr. Barrow?" Charles called out from the door. Molesley and Bates stood beside him as the butler started to unlock the door, but realized it was unnecessary. He threw open the door and cursed at the empty room. Clearly, the bed had not been slept in.

"Blast! How did he get out?"

Mr. Molesley rushed into the room, throwing open the wardrobe and ridiculously looking under the bed.

"He is gone, Mr. Molesley." Mr. Bates said gently.

"We must call the police immediately." Mr. Carson proclaimed. "Damn and blast. This will not reflect well on the household. What will His Lordship say?"

The police arrived within the half hour, but they accomplished little more than the staff had; standing around, looking bewildered. "Do they expect him to come walking back in?" Beryl whispered to Elsie, before heading into the hall to serve yet another round of tea to the apparently unfazed and unhurried Constables.

"I don't suppose we could have another slice of that lovely lemon cake, could we, Mrs. Patmore?"

"Why not, Mr. Norris? It isn't as though I've anything else to be doing." She added under her breath, again for Elsie's amusement.

"I'll bring them the cake. You need to start on lunch."

"Thank you ever so, dearie." Beryl was relieved to turn the policemen over to Mrs. Hughes. _Mrs._ _Carson_, Beryl reminded herself, but she couldn't start calling Elsie that until the announcement was official.

-00-

Charles and Mrs. Butte came down shortly, after speaking to Lord Grantham and Detective Vance. Charles looked to be in a decidedly foul mood.

"My spare key to the bedrooms is missing." He confided in Elsie when she came into his office with a cup of tea for him. "How could I be so careless? To just let him escape like that?"

"Mr. Bates said that Thomas didn't take any of his things with him. Doesn't that strike you as strange?"

"What about this situation _isn't_ strange?" Charles slurped his tea noisily as he was wont to do when he was upset. It always reminded Elsie of a pouting child, trying to make as much noise as possible. Even under the current, stressful conditions, she found it endearing.

"Is that it then? Are they convinced it was all Thomas?" Elsie still couldn't believe it.

"No. They think he might have been afraid for his life and decided it was safest to run." Charles told her. "I tend to agree. Killing two people, possibly more, in cold blood is not something I find easy to attribute to Thomas, no matter how vile he might be."

"So we are all still stuck here in London?"

"For the foreseeable future."

-00-

That evening, the police were conducting yet another search of Thomas' room and all the public rooms. Lucille could not believe their narrow scope and their incompetence. However, she resisted the urge to push them in the right direction. It would not do to call attention to herself now, when it was almost over. If they waited too long, Thomas would lead them right to him soon enough. She tried to act as though nothing were different. She still met Mr. Nash when he came with the post, though now she realized he had been lingering longer and longer each day. That might get awkward, but she could not afford to change any of her habits, as they might be remarked upon.

The worst thing was that Mr. Carson had noticed and was trying to gently encourage her to cultivate her 'friendship' with Mr. Nash. "Steady chap, that Nash," he'd said on more than one occasion upon receiving the mail from her. It irked her to think that it would make him happy to see her married off to the postman. She knew it was because it would make him feel less guilty about installing his wife, the miserly Scottish Gargoyle, as mistress of Grantham House as well as of Downton.

What really concerned Lucille was the whereabouts of Miss 'Baxter', as everyone still insisted upon calling her. In this endeavor, she found that Mr. Molesley was finally proving useful. Every since Phyllis' disappearance, any spare hours of the day found Mr. Molesley walking the streets of London, one section at a time. He would catch a train to an underground station and walk up and down the streets until he reached the next station. The next day, he would return to that station and work his way to the next.

He had a map of London in his room where he marked off each station and street as he eliminated them. It was a flawed approach, to be sure, but since it was the only concerted effort being made to locate the missing woman, Lucille followed his progress closely. Whenever she could do so without arousing suspicion, she encouraged him and supported him. Within two days of his searching, she had become Mr. Molesley's confidant; the person to whom he reported his progress. She had begun to convince him not to trust the police implicitly. If that fool actually happened to find her, Lucille was certain to be the first to know.

-00-

The day after Thomas' 'disappearance', found Mr. Carson cursing the former under butler.

"He scheduled you for today and neglected to tell me? If they do ever find him, I swear…" Elsie's little cough behind him brought Charles back to himself. "Yes, since you've all the materials, Mr. Toby, do come in, but mind you give us ample warning before you turn off the boiler. If you leave Mrs. Patmore in the lurch, I don't think she'll be very forthcoming with the cake at tea time."

Charles groused his way into his office. Why would Thomas schedule the boiler to be changed while the family was still in attendance? _Fool._

"Is there any way I can help, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Butte met him at his door. Charles gave a jump. Sometimes she moved so silently that he could not have said where she came from.

"Ah, Mrs. Butte, it seems the boiler is to be replaced over the next few days. We shall need to coordinate the hot water for baths and cooking. Mr. Toby tells me there may be several disruptions over the course of the process, though he will try to minimize them."

"And how shall we contain the dust? The downstairs shall be lousy with coal and iron dust in no time."

"I am not sure how that can be helped." Carson really had no solution and had not been able to give the matter much thought.

"We could hang some sort of dust curtain up between the boiler room and the rest of the downstairs."

"That is an excellent idea, Mrs. Butte. Have Madge bring some of the old linens down, but make sure they are the damaged linens, not just the out of circulation ones."

"Of course, Mr. Carson." Lucille bit her tongue to keep from smiling.

And so it was that poor, overworked, underappreciated Madge had the misfortune of discovering Mr. Barrow.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ I am still in negotiations with ITV (aka my family) to see if we've been renewed for a second season, but things look promising.**


	17. Discovered

Madge's scream was heard throughout the house. Mrs. Hughes was the first to reach her, having been in Her Ladyship's room laying out the evening's clothes. "Whatever is the matter, child?"

Unable to translate Madge's pants and tears, Elsie had opened the door to the room to which the hysterical girl was pointing. She gasped and shut the door immediately. Anna and Mr. Bates had reached her now.

"We must call the police. No one is to enter that room. Mr. Bates, will you please guard the stairs here?"

He nodded taciturnly.

"Anna, let's get Madge downstairs. I'd say she might be due a bit of fortified wine." They led the maid downstairs. Her shock was wearing off and she was beginning to cry even harder now. In the kitchen, they sat her on a chair. Mrs. Hughes put a cool, wet cloth on the back of her neck as she sobbed and hiccupped.

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Butte came hurrying into the kitchen. Elsie shook her head at Charles' concerned look. He looked as though he was going to take her in his comforting arms. As much as she wished for it, Elsie could not let him give them away. "Mr. Carson, you must call the police at once."

He scrutinized her for a few seconds before heading off to follow her instructions. Mrs. Butte remained in the kitchen, but said nothing. The other women seemed to have things well in hand.

Mrs. Patmore brought out her best port and poured a small glass for Madge. She gestured to Mrs. Hughes, who declined. Mrs. Hughes was shaken, but she did not need the wine to calm her. She wanted Charles, but she knew they could not comfort one another without betraying their secret. Her own strength would need to be enough. She did not doubt that it would be.

"What's upset her?" Anna asked kindly. "Why have the police been called? Is it something to do with Miss Baxter or Thomas?"

Elsie nodded for the others to see, but said for Madge's sake, "It doesn't matter right now. Madge, dear, you'll need to talk to the police when they arrive, but, for now, just sip your wine and calm your nerves."

-00-

"It appears that Mr. Barrow _was _the killer all along." Detective Vance reported to Lord and Lady Grantham. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Butte stood beside their employers, it had been deemed best to have everyone informed at the same time. The detective was under instructions not to be too explicit in his descriptions in deference to the ladies' delicate sensibilities.

"We found a good deal of evidence in the attic where we found the…where we found Mr. Barrow. In addition to certain 'souvenirs' from Sir Richard Carlisle, we found letters from Mr. Bryant, Mr. Kent and a Miss Edna Braithwaite."

"Oh, dear. Miss Braithwaite?" Lady Grantham gasped.

"There is also a piece of evidence that we believe belongs to Miss Stuart, but we don't have any means of confirming that. Based upon the letter that was found on Mr. Barrow's person, we have good reason to assume that she was his first victim."

"What was the evidence? Perhaps Mrs. Patmore or Daisy could confirm if it belonged to Ivy or not."

"That is unlikely." _After all, one woman's finger looks like any other,_ he thought.

"Mr. Barrow was also in possession of a watch that had previously been described to us by Mrs. Bryant. It was a present to him from her on their last anniversary. Even though we've not found a body, I fear we must assume that Mr. Bryant is another victim." He informed them.

"We believe Mr. Barrow killed the kitchen maid and the footman out of jealousy. When he needed money to run, he went to Sir Richard, who turned him down and was killed for his trouble. Next, he tried to work with Miss Braithwaite to blackmail the family. Then, he tried to blackmail Mr. Bryant."

"How exactly was he going to use Miss Braithwaite's death to blackmail the family?" Lady Grantham asked. It didn't make any sense to her.

"He knew the baby's true parentage, he confessed as much to us. He probably had agreed to share the money with Miss Braithwaite, but either he got greedy, or she threatened to cut him out of the deal."

"But no demands were ever made. If he was so desperate for money, why not make the demand as soon as the child arrived?" Cora wanted to know.

Unable to provide a satisfactory answer, Detective Vance deflected, "It's early days yet, we'll have to work out the exact timing of everything and try to piece together the most likely scenario. There are a lot of loose ends that we are trying to tie up. To be honest, my first instinct on this case was that Mr. Barrow was being set up, but I think that is now out of the question. We have more than sufficient evidence to tie Mr. Barrow to every known and suspected victim and his suicide can be taken as a confession."

"So you are certain it _was_ suicide?" Mr. Carson asked. "I'm sorry to interrupt your report, but Mr. Barrow is not the sort of man to commit suicide." Mrs. Butte forced her breathing to remain calm and even.

"An expert on the subject are you?" Constable Norris asked, sarcastically.

"No, but I knew Mr. Barrow better than you. You say he was afraid of being caught, so why would he have saved all this evidence? Detective, you said it yourself, you thought he was being set up. Might he not also have been killed?"

"The criminal mind is a dark and mysterious thing, Mr. Carson." The detective lectured sagely. "Maybe on some level he wanted to be caught. Maybe his guilt over killing Mr. Kent was too much for him. Maybe he knew we were closing in on him. We had just found evidence that put him at the likely scene of Mr. Kent's death. Whatever the reason, I assure you, this was a suicide."

"What about Miss Baxter and her family connections?" Lady Grantham asked.

"Sometimes investigations smoke out rats besides the ones we are hunting." Vance told her.

"But her family isn't to blame, so she would be safe to return, if we could find her."

"That's a big 'if', milady. She's well hid now. You aren't likely to see her again."

-00-

When Mr. Molesley returned from his daily search, he found most of the staff sitting around the long table in shock.

"What's happened?" His heart dropped, thinking there was some news of Phyllis.

"They found Mr. Barrow." Mrs. Patmore said lowly.

"Where was he?"

"In the attic."

"Why would he hide in the attic?"

"Not hiding; hanging."

Molesley gulped sympathetically. "I guess we know why he left his things in his room."

"He certainly wasn't going to need them, where he was going." Mrs. Patmore agreed.

"They think Mr. Barrow was responsible for everything?"

"They do."

"That's wonderful!" The crying maids at the far end of the table looked up and glared at his inappropriate enthusiasm. "I'm sorry, but this means Phyllis, that is, Miss Baxter is safe. It would be safe for her to return."

"Yes, but it also means you have less time to look for her."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll be returning to Downton very soon, now that we're free to leave London," the cook informed him.

_Typical,_ Joseph thought. As with everything else in his life, every golden guinea had a heart of lead.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ Sorry for the long delay between chapters. The "mother ship" story has a lot of momentum right now, so this one has suffered from negligence. On the upside, we've been renewed for a second season, so we're in for a nice, cliffhanger of a season finale in a few chapters…**


	18. Life After Death

"We'll be home soon, love," he promises as he holds her. Finally, the long day had passed and she had found him waiting in his office for her, as she knew she would. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Elsie shakes her head. "Not yet. Soon, but not yet." She can't tell him that she is afraid to close her eyes for fear of seeing Thomas' tortured visage. Of all the sins identified and enumerated by the church, suicide had seemed the most terrible to her as a child. It was a sin not only against God, but against yourself and against hope. It was a rejection of every gift that life might hold. Or so she had been taught. The idea of any soul being so tormented and despondent that they would resort to such a desperate act left her feeling cold. She would tell him all these things someday. For now, it is enough to be held in his warm embrace and to know she is loved.

-00-

The end of Season party was abandoned quietly and the staff began preparations to close Grantham House for another year. Mr. Carson had even more work than usual because of Mr. Barrow's neglect of the books. Several days before they were to leave, he called Mrs. Butte into his office. He'd asked Mrs. Patmore to bring him tea for two, as he was not looking forward to this conversation.

"Please have a seat, Mrs. Butte." Carson indicated the large leather chair. "After this nasty business, it is difficult to return to the mundane matter of running a house, but there it is."

He prepared a cup of tea for her, mistakenly adding sugar, but he did not notice his mistake. "I wanted to speak to you privately regarding a couple of matters. Firstly, I must be honest with you and tell you that Lady Grantham is considering consolidating the housekeeping duties between Downton Abbey and Grantham House. This would not result in a dismissal for you, but in reduced duties and pay. I know it is easier to find work in the offseason and I wanted to let you know in case you wanted to pursue other employment. You may depend upon a stellar recommendation from myself and Lady Grantham."

Lucille was astonished with what Mr. Carson was telling her. She had known of this development, of course, but she had not expected that he would be so upfront with her. He wore a soft and compassionate expression, very like the one he had worn when she had fallen in love with him. Mr. Carson had his faults, to be sure, but he was truly a kind man; kinder than any she had ever known. It was really tragic that he was so taken in by Mrs. Hughesallhighandmighty.

"Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Carson. I will consider my options very carefully." _But I could never leave you._

"Speaking of options, I was thinking perhaps, now that Nellie is older, you might wish to find her work. With poor Ivy's absence, we need a kitchen maid at Downton. I am sure your daughter would do very well in the position, if you could stand to lose her to the country."

"She does so much at home, but I could look after mother in the offseason. And if my Grantham House duties are to be reduced, we would certainly need the money."

"We could work with Mrs. Patmore to see if Nellie could come home during the Season, if it helped you to have her. I know you've your mother to look after. It isn't a usual arrangement, but I would like to help you in any way that I can. You've served this family well."

"I shall have to discuss it with Nellie, Mr. Carson, and see if I think I can handle mother without the additional help. Thank you for your kind consideration. When do you need to know for certain?"

"If you could let me know as soon as possible, it would be appreciated. Can you decide by the end of the week?"

"I think we can. Was that all?"

"Yes, that was all. Thank you, Mrs. Butte."

-00-

"Mrs. Butte, there's someone at the backdoor for you." Anna informed her as she emerged from the butler's office.

"Thank you, Anna." She had not noticed the knowing smirk on Anna's face.

"Mr. Nash! What are you doing here on a Sunday?" Lucille was honestly astounded.

"I hope that I'm not being presumptuous, Mrs. Butte, but I wanted to speak to you. Could we step across into the park? They unlock it on Sundays."

"Even if it were locked, I have the key." She reminded him. "One moment, let me tell someone that I am stepping out." _Or is it 'walking out'?_

When she returned, she brought a light shawl with her, not because she was cold, but because propriety said she should bring one.

They crossed the street and entered in the nearest gate. Mr. Nash seemed nervous and Mrs. Butte suspected she was in for a difficult conversation. They walked beneath the overhanging trees. The shade was cool, but the humidity was trapped by the trees.

"They'll be closing up the house soon, won't they?"

"Yes, Mr. Nash, I believe so."

"I'm very sorry to hear it. I shall miss my morning coffee." He said sheepishly.

"I am sure you can find coffee elsewhere. We do not hold a monopoly on the commodity." She jested lightly. _Best to let him down easy, _she thought.

"It's not so much the coffee as the company, if I may say so, Mrs. Butte."

"It is kind of you to say so, Mr. Nash, but surely company is even more plentiful than coffee for a young man such as yourself."

"You might think so, but you would be mistaken." He said, nervously wiping his brow. "I was wondering if I might call on you at your home, Mrs. Butte, after you've returned there. That is, I would like to continue seeing you."

Lucille might be a murderess, but she was not completely without a heart. She'd never meant to lead the poor man on, but she did know what it was like to have one's heart broken. She didn't think a rejection from her would break the young man's heart, but there was no reason to be unnecessarily cruel.

"Mr. Nash, I am deeply flattered, but, if you are asking what I think you are asking, I think a young man like you would be better matched with a younger woman than myself. I am surely fifteen years your senior."

"That doesn't matter to me. Young girls are so flighty and immature. You are steady and intelligent and you've been so very sweet to me of late." He looked hurt and confused. "I thought you would welcome my attentions."

"All women enjoy the attentions of a sweet young man, but that does not mean that they would want to walk out with him. I am sorry if you feel that I misled you. I did enjoy our coffee in the mornings, but it was not a flirtation, only a friendship."

"Could we not meet occasionally then, as friends?" He was so earnest that she felt powerless to deny him.

"I suppose we could meet. Occasionally. As friends." She allowed tentatively, but immediately regretted it when she saw the look of hope on his face.

"I would like that, Mrs. Butte." He said sincerely.

"I must be getting back, Mr. Nash."

"Of course, I've taken enough of your time." He offered her his arm. "Let me escort you back."

Lucille was a mess of feelings as she walked back to Grantham House on Mr. Nash's arm. She felt the great honor of being valued by such a good man, but he was the wrong man. Wasn't he?

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Butte."

"Tomorrow then, Mr. Nash."

TBC...

* * *

**AN/ What do we think of Mr. Nash? Could he redeem her or should he just run?**


	19. A Chance Encounter

The next morning's post was exchanged for a warm cup of strong coffee, as it had been for the past few weeks, but the recipient of the coffee was very subdued. Mr. Nash felt that he had embarrassed himself and Mrs. Butte, but he wasn't sure how to apologize to her without making it worse. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong about their difference in age. He did have a youthful face, but he was almost forty. Barring that, he wanted to at least tell her that having her as a friend would be enough for him, but he hadn't yet sold himself on the lie.

After some small talk, he handed her back the empty mug and returned to his route. "I'll see you this evening, Mrs. Butte."

"Until then, Mr. Nash." And to her own great shock and surprise, she gave him a warm and genuine smile at the thought.

-00-

"What do you think? Does it interest you?"

"Of course, it does, but how can I leave you alone with Clive and Gran?" Nellie asked.

"You mustn't worry about that. Working in the country will be a nice change for you. You've never gotten to spend much time outside of London. The Crawley family are faithful employers."

"I've always been so fond of Mr. Carson. He used to give me candies when I visited you at Grantham House and you always speak so highly of him."

"Yes. Mr. Carson will look after you and I will look after Gran and Clive. I might even be able to come visit you on occasion. It would be treat for us both." Lucille held her daughter's hand. Ah, to be young and to have options. She was proud that she could provide her daughter with such a fine opportunity. From what Lucille had heard, Daisy was likely to leave Downton in a few years, and, though Mrs. Patmore might work until they pried the spoon from her cold hand, she wasn't immortal. With Mr. Barrow and his 'crimes' wrapped up neatly and Nellie sent off to the country, Lucille could focus on finding Miss Baxter and punishing her family. "I'll tell Mr. Carson as soon as I get back to Grantham House. He will be so pleased."

-00-

As Mrs. Butte had predicted, Mr. Carson had been pleased to hear that Nellie would be joining the party as they returned to Downton. "I am certain she and Mrs. Patmore will get along splendidly," he assured her. He always took it very seriously when a parent entrusted their child to his care. The fact that he actually knew Mrs. Butte made it even more important to him to allay any fears or trepidations she might have. "We'll take good care of her, Mrs. Butte. I promise."

Remembering his tender words, Lucille wore a pensive smile as she waited for Mr. Nash and the evening post. In a few days, her dear daughter would be employed and off to an idyllic country setting. Granted, she'd be lucky to see aught but the inside of a stove for a few years, but any chance to escape London was not an opportunity to be squandered. Lucille was happy for her daughter, though it made her a little sad for her own sake, to lose the company and support Nellie provided. Perhaps Lucille could use her presence at Downton as a reason to occasionally escape the city, her mother and Clive's sporadic visits. It also gave her another connection to Mr. Carson. He would look after her daughter almost as if she were his own daughter. It thrilled her secretly to share her child with him. It was something the Scottish strumpet could never do.

"A penny for 'em." Mr. Nash offered kindly as he finally descended the stairs. He'd watched her for a few stolen moments from the street level. She looked tragically beautiful to him as she waited in the shaded, sunken courtyard with a sad smile on her face. He wondered if anyone else knew how much weight she carried on her shoulders. He wanted to help her carry that weight even if he did not know what caused it.

"You'd ask for change back if I told you." She returned jokingly, again astonishing herself.

"I doubt that. Were you thinking about Miss Baxter, by any chance?"

"No." She was perplexed by his question. "Why do you ask?"

"I thought I saw her at tea today, when I stopped off at a public house at the St. Katherine Dock. I usually go home to have tea with my mum, but today I met an old friend who works on a barge." Nash explained. "I've never met Miss Baxter and have only seen her a few times, so I'm not sure it was her, but I'm fairly certain."

Lucille tried to remain calm, but felt her heart trying to beat out of her chest.

"Are the police still looking for her?" Mr. Nash asked.

"I honestly don't know. They don't suspect her of anything anymore, but they might still want to find her. It's not as urgent as it once was." Her mind was spinning in a flurry of thoughts and potential plans.

"I'll drop by and talk to the constable tomorrow. It might not even be her."

"Probably not, but I'm sure the police would appreciate knowing that you saw her at the… I'm sorry, what was the name of the pub?"

"The Lock and Keel."

_Bingo_. Lucille could not help but smile, which warmed Mr. Nash's heart oddly. She had heard of the pub. It was a place generally known as a meeting place for people who needed to book cheap passage out of England with no questions asked. There were also rooms that were let above the pub where these desperate people often stayed. Miss Baxter was trying to flee the country. It was a lucky thing Mr. Nash had seen her. It would be even luckier for Mrs. Butte if it happened that Miss Baxter were staying above the pub.

"Mr. Carson will be waiting for these." Mrs. Butte waved the inconsequential mail vaguely. "Until tomorrow, Mr. Nash."

"Until then, Mrs. Butte, have a good evening."

Mrs. Butte did deliver the post faithfully, but she took the opportunity to request the evening off. "I'd like to spend some time with Nellie before I send her north."

"Of course, Mrs. Butte. Just be back by ten tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson."

Before leaving Grantham House, Lucille went to her room and dug into the back of her lowest drawer. Finding the small, amber bottle, she weighed it in her hand, hoping it would be enough. Lucille knew she was rushing into this without proper planning, but she had to make sure Mrs. Baxter did not get away. Finally, this was Lucille's opportunity to take something from the men who had taken her father from her.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ Next chapter is the 'Season One' finale! Mrs. Butte vs. Miss Baxter!**


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